


More Than Human

by sbj



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: Action, Character Development, Coming of Age, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, F/M, Het, High School, Homophobic Language, Internalized Misogyny, Mild Sexual Content, Misogyny, Romance, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, The Boys start off terrible but maybe they'll be less terrible by the end of this story, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pretty much every terrible tag is because of the Boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 345,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbj/pseuds/sbj
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Relationships: Blossom/Brick, Blues - Relationship, Bubbles/Boomer, Buttercup/Butch, Greens, Reds - Relationship
Comments: 377
Kudos: 1438





	1. Just An Old Friend Coming Over, or Blood Never Forgets

**Author's Note:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: First and foremost and always for mathkid, who is constantly showing me that no matter how good I may think I am, I could always, always be better. And since that tends to work out for all parties involved, she deserves some major, major thanks. Comments appreciated :) 1/28/11 update – Fixed the formatting issues. Breaks now appear as they should.

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester  
Ch. 1 - Just An Old Friend Coming Over** or **Blood Never Forgets**  
 _-sbj-_  
  
  


The landscape of Townsville unfurled like a winter blanket underneath the dim glow of the morning sun as they approached the city. Blossom rolled down the car window a tad just for an inhale of the crisp January air. Next to her, Buttercup was fiddling with the zippers of her backpack, while Bubbles manned the radio in the front seat next to the Professor.  
  
  
“Pretty morning,” Blossom said, more to herself than anything.  
  
  
“I'd enjoy it more if I was asleep,” Buttercup yawned, thumping her head against the window.  
  
  
“For someone who usually has no problem making her six o'clock practices every morning, you sure like to complain,” Bubbles observed.  
  
  
The Professor sighed heavily, interrupting the litany of protests Buttercup was preparing to launch into. “Seniors in, what, eight months? I could've sworn I was just driving you guys to Townsville High's Freshman Orientation yesterday.”  
  
  
“If you got me a car you wouldn't have to drive us anywhere,” Buttercup offered, her eyes lighting up.  
  
  
“Nice try. You're still not getting a car till your 18th birthday,” the Professor said grimly. Buttercup pouted. “Besides, I like driving you girls to school.” He sighed again. “I was hoping I'd be able to do it a little longer.”  
  
  
Bubbles turned her attention from the stereo to him. “What do you mean, Professor?”  
  
  
“Now, you girls know I won’t be able to do this as often anymore,” the Professor said slowly, and eyed his girls in the rearview mirror. “I’ve hit a sort of… ‘rough spot’ with work, and I’ll have to put in more hours in the lab…”  
  
  
Blossom met his eyes in the rearview and responded bravely, “Well, if it’s for the good of the people, I’d say that isn’t a problem.”  
  
  
“We’ll miss you!”  
  
  
“Bubbles, he’ll be right downstairs,” Buttercup said, exasperated. She watched the familiar flagpoles of the school come into view and continued, “Man, I’m gonna miss it when you’ve got this citywide security thing up and running and we’re not needed to go out and fight crime anymore—”  
  
  
“I’m sure you’ll still do that, but I’d like you girls to live a little like… well, normal girls—”  
  
  
Suddenly Buttercup’s eyes went wide and she took a heroic dive into Blossom’s lap.  
  
  
“ _What are you doing_?!” Blossom cried, indignant.  
  
  
“Not letting him _see_ me!” Buttercup hissed, as if it were blatantly obvious.  
  
  
Bubbles peered out the window and instantly said, “Hey, it’s Mitch!”  
  
  
“Stop looking at him, you idiot— _DON’T WAVE_! _He’ll know I’m IN HERE_!!”  
  
  
Blossom was getting tired of having to be the sensible one. “Buttercup, this isn’t a very judicious way to deal with a breakup.”  
  
  
“Did _you_ ever date a friend, Blossom?” the girl in her lap snarled back.  
  
  
“Will’s my friend,” Bubbles helpfully offered.  
  
  
“You don’t count. You make friends with rocks and trees, Pocahontas.”  
  
  
Bubbles turned to issue a sour look at Blossom’s lap.  
  
  
“Buttercup, I’d rather you sit up,” Blossom said ominously. “That’s new clothing you’re wrinkling.”  
  
  
Buttercup responded by shifting aggressively against said new clothing.  
  
  
“ _Hey_!”  
  
  
“Professor, can you _please_ let us off a little further down?”  
  
  
The Professor sighed, “Buttercup…”  
  
  
“ _Pleeeeeease_? I really don’t want to talk to him…”  
  
  
With another one of those loving sighs he did so well, he pulled the car further up and let them off behind a conveniently large bush next to the entrance.  
  
  
“I love you with all my heart,” Buttercup said devoutly, and pecked him on the cheek before slipping out the door in a manner that she hoped epitomized stealth.  
  
  
Bubbles kissed him too before whispering, “Just between you and me, I love you more.”  
  
  
As she left Blossom inched up and asked, “Is everything going okay with work?”  
  
  
“I’m okay if you girls are okay with it,” he answered, voice a little concerned. “Are you girls… okay?”  
  
  
Blossom smiled and said, “We’re okay if you’re okay with it.”  
  
  
A swift peck on the cheek, a “Love you, bye,” and Blossom stepped out into the frosty sunshine, the snow crunching underneath her new shoes.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Bubbles loved first days.  
  
  
The way pockets of students clustered around them, socializing, laughing, catching up… the school was at its liveliest on first days, and Bubbles, well, loved life!  
  
  
“I love life!” she announced to no one in particular, and Buttercup scowled beside her.  
  
  
“Life sucks,” she muttered. “I’m going to go find the boys.”  
  
  
“Mitch hangs out with the boys,” Bubbles piped cheerily.  
  
  
Buttercup considered. “I’ll catch up with them later.”  
  
  
“I wonder where Will is,” Bubbles wondered aloud, eyes shifting from crowd to crowd.  
  
  
“Probably off making out with his football,” Buttercup quipped, and Bubbles glared at her.  
  
  
“Hush. I kiss that mouth, you know.”  
  
  
“Which only makes it more disgusting,” Buttercup responded automatically.  
  
  
“What are you two fighting about _now_?” Blossom interrupted, just as Bubbles caught Robin’s eye and waved.  
  
  
“Kissing dead pigs,” Buttercup answered, and Blossom made a face.  
  
  
“Hey girls!” Robin exclaimed, giving each of them a hug in turn. “Buttercup, you cut your hair!”  
  
  
Buttercup mumbled something and rubbed her neck, the back of her hand brushing the chin length strands.  
  
  
“Hi Robin.” Blossom smiled as they pulled apart and asked, “So, how was the trip?”  
  
  
“Eh, well, you know family get-togethers—after three days stuck together you’re ready to go postal on ‘em.”  
  
  
“Funny,” Buttercup pondered, issuing a meaningful look at Bubbles. “I know exactly what you mean.”  
  
  
Something behind the girls suddenly caught Robin’s attention, and with a quick glance at Buttercup she said loudly, “HELLO MITCH.”  
  
  
Buttercup’s body gave a little jerk and she whipped around, coming face to face with The Ex.  
  
  
“Hey Mitch!” Bubbles chirped, with a smug little grin on her face.  
  
  
“Uh… hi,” Buttercup mumbled, avoiding eye contact. She self-consciously twitched a hand toward her hair. “Um… how ya been?”  
  
  
Mitch ignored her and told Blossom, “Principal’s looking for you three.”  
  
  
Buttercup made an indignant sort of face while Blossom furrowed her brow. “What for?”  
  
  
“Didn’t say, but she seemed like she was in a hurry. I’d get to it if I was you.”  
  
  
Without casting so much as a look at Buttercup, he brushed past them, leaving the dark-haired girl scowling in his wake.  
  
  
“Who… who does he think he is, ignorin’ me like that?!”  
  
  
“Apparently your ex,” Bubbles keenly observed, eliciting a death glare from Buttercup.  
  
  
“I wasn’t talking to _you_.”  
  
  
“Who were you talking to, then? Since, you know, Mitch wasn’t listening.”  
  
  
“Girls, cut it out,” Blossom said sharply. “C’mon. Robin, I guess we’ll catch up with you later.”  
  
  
“Sure.” Robin waved as they left. “And by the way Blossom, I love the outfit!”  
  
  
A proud little smile lit up Blossom’s face, to which Buttercup responded, “Too bad it does little to cover up your ego.”  
  
  
Bubbles decisively looked in the other direction as Blossom readied herself to deliver a sharp retort, but was distracted by an unknown student. The smile he flashed at Blossom was of bold, senior-worthy status, though judging by the books in his arms he couldn’t have been more than a sophomore.  
  
  
“Nice threads,” he said affably, eyes lingering on her as he passed.  
  
  
“Um, thanks,” she said with a blush. For all the attention she got from the male gender, she still managed to look surprised every time instances like these occurred. And oh, did they occur. Frequently.  
  
  
“Turn that over-conditioned, over-brushed, over-inflated red head of yours back around before you cause a collision,” Buttercup snapped.  
  
  
Blossom glared and said in a clipped voice, “Maybe if you paid more attention to making yourself presentable, you could spend less time being jealous of the attention _I_ get.”  
  
  
“Like I’d be jealous of the kind of attention that gets girls kidnapped and ra—”  
  
  
“ _Will_!” Bubbles suddenly shrieked, bowling over Blossom in her rush to her boyfriend’s extended arms.  
  
  
“Baby!”  
  
  
Blossom and Buttercup, for all their differences, made faces of equal distaste at the generic and yet stomach-churning nickname that had been bestowed on their sister.  
  
  
Blissfully unaware of their reactions, Bubbles laughed as she lightly kissed Will on the lips. “Hi!”  
  
  
“Hey, so I saw your shoe ad on the way to school—”  
  
  
Bubbles gasped and jumped back, her hands flying to her already reddening cheeks. “Oh my _God_! You didn’t!”  
  
  
“—And you just looked so hot on that billboard I couldn’t wait to get here and see you,” he finished, as Buttercup gagged in the background. Her ill-masked hacking drew his attention to the Powerpuffs he wasn’t currently dating, and after a moment’s thought, he added, “You two looked good too.”  
  
  
Blossom smiled politely. Buttercup bared her teeth in an overzealous simper before she resumed looking sick.  
  
  
“So…” Will said, drawing out the word as he played with one of Bubbles’ pigtails. “Wanna go—”  
  
  
“Sorry, Will,” Blossom interrupted, grabbing a very distracted Bubbles by the arm. “We’re all supposed to be meeting with Ms. Keane right now.”  
  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Bubbles said, despondency settling over her features.  
  
  
What should’ve ended the conversation there dragged out a minute longer than it had to, and Buttercup griped at length about it for the rest of their trek to Principal Keane’s.  
  
  
“You know, when _I_ was dating, I didn’t need to take an entire five minutes just to say ‘Good-bye’ to Mitch.”  
  
  
“I thought you didn’t get the chance to,” Bubbles shot back. “Since he did it first—”  
  
  
“ _You’re treading on thin ice, sister_ ,” Buttercup snarled.  
  
  
Blossom sighed, again assuming the role of The Sensible One, and quietly marveled that the three of them could exude such polarities in their sisterly relationship. These insults and quibbles over boyfriends, current and former, had been nonexistent when she and Bubbles had opened the door over a month ago on a desolate Buttercup, reeling from immediate post-breakup trauma. Her first and only post-breakup trauma.  
  
  
The passing thought that she was now the only sister who had yet to suffer from such an affliction inspired a twinge of jealousy. Of the three of them, she had expected Buttercup to be the last one to throw herself into any sort of romantic relationship, much less get depressed about it after throwing herself out.  
  
  
As they reached the door to the Main Office and she shushed her sisters, she reassured herself that she had long ago decided that the tenuous nature of the High School Relationship was, while thrilling, undesirable on the whole, and that a mature young woman such as herself would only engage in one if a more than appropriate suitor showed up, one unfettered by High School Ignorance, High School Drama, and, over all things, High School Immaturity.  
  
  
Of course, High School being High School, said suitor was long in coming.  
  
  
Pushing these thoughts aside with much pragmatism, she gave her sisters one last look that urged them to Please, Be Serious for A Moment, and, stretching a concerned smile on her face, opened the door.  
  
  
“Ms. Keane,” she started, “you asked to see—”  
  
  
But it wasn’t Ms. Keane who greeted them, and the audience that did instigated an immediate defensive reaction. She and her sisters froze as the door shut behind them.  
  
  
“What are you doing here.” Blossom hated how her voice wavered when she said it. She could feel her sisters’ muscles tense, in sync with her own.  
  
  
Boomer leant against the wall, a lazy, haphazard grin on his face as his eyes flickered to the girls, then to his brothers. Butch had perched himself on the corner of the unoccupied secretary’s desk, and, with a total lack of regard for personal space, was reaching for various items on its surface and casually examining them. He cast the girls a perfunctory glance, left his eyes on them long enough to smirk, then returned his attention to the nameplate in his hands.  
  
  
Brick was the only one of them that stood rigid, with his hands in his pockets and his back facing them. He took a moment before slowly swiveling his head round and leveling his eyes with Blossom's. Unlike his brothers, there wasn’t even the slightest trace of a smile on his face. His expression was cool, detached, and she almost shivered at the sight of it.  
  
  
“What are you doing here,” she repeated, but neither of his brothers looked back at them, and he only continued to stare.  
  
  
“She asked you three a question,” Buttercup chimed in, her voice hard. “If you aren’t going to answer, then _get the fuck out_.”  
  
  
“Buttercup,” Blossom said sternly, and that seemed to get their attention. Butch’s gaze slid back up and focused on them, the ever-present smirk widening, while Boomer’s eyes merely wandered back over.  
  
  
Butch set down the nameplate with a _thump_ and began to stand, and Brick turned his head to him and opened his mouth to speak—  
  
  
A door in the back opened suddenly, and the plump little woman that was the office secretary came scurrying out. “Girls!” she cried, in a voice that was clearly attempting composure and failing impressively, “F-f-fantastic of you to come! Could I, um, maybe see you girls in Ms. Keane's office? Maybe? And, um—I’m sorry, please put that down, sir—”  
  
  
Butch had picked up a heavy glass paperweight and was tossing it from hand to hand. He didn’t look up. “‘Sir,’ huh?” He looked back at his brothers, grinning. “I’m gonna like it here.”  
  
  
Buttercup pushed forward and snatched the paperweight out of the air, slamming it back down on the desk and denting the wood. “Not for long,” she said in a low voice. His lip curled into a sneer and he reached for the paperweight again.  
  
  
“Girls!” Ms. Naylor squeaked. “Office, please?!”  
  
  
Blossom glanced at Bubbles, then started to follow Ms. Naylor down the hall. Buttercup held back, eyes hard, then finally shouldered past Butch and followed in her sisters’ wake.  
  
  
Butch resumed smirking at his brothers as the door in the back shut. “Off to a great start.”  
  
  
“You’re such a jackass,” Boomer laughed, turning his eyes to the windows that overlooked the first story of the school.  
  
  
Brick sighed and lifted his cap for a brief moment to run his hand through his hair. “This was a terrible idea,” he muttered, a grim look on his face. If his brothers had heard him, they didn’t pay him any mind.  
  
  
“The redhead’s even better looking in person,” he heard Butch say conspiratorially to Boomer, and Brick instantly made a threatening noise in the back of his throat as he directed a glare at the two of them.  
  
  
“Don’t even _think_ about it.”  
  
  
“I’m just sayin’!” Butch said defensively, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Just pointing out why exactly I’m gonna like it here.”  
  
  
“What the _hell_ are those three doing in our school?!” Buttercup’s shriek carried well into the main part of the office.  
  
  
Butch threw back his head and laughed. “Really. I’m _really_ gonna like it here.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“Buttercup, _watch your language_ ,” Blossom growled through gritted teeth.  
  
  
Bright green eyes flashed back at her, but Buttercup clamped her mouth shut.  
  
  
Bubbles held a hand over her mouth, brow knit deep in thought. “Shouldn’t someone be keeping an eye on them out there?”  
  
  
“Bubbles is right,” Buttercup immediately chimed in. “This is a public school. _High school_ , no less. We’ve got enough idiots running around, we don’t need idiots with _superpowers_ adding to it.”  
  
  
Blossom took a deep breath and focused on Ms. Naylor, who continued to wring her hands nervously and looked anxiously from Powerpuff to Powerpuff to Powerpuff and back.  
  
  
“Ms. Naylor,” Blossom started slowly, and three pairs of eyes immediately swept to her.  
  
  
Blossom made sure to keep her tone cool, composed. “What are these three doing in the school?”  
  
  
Ms. Naylor drew herself up fretfully and attempted a voice as steady as Blossom’s. “Well, girls, recently there was a bit of redistricting of the… the school districts, and as it is, these boys will be attending our school as a result—”  
  
  
“But the Rowdyruff Boys haven’t been around for a long time,” Bubbles interjected. “We haven’t seen them around, _period_ , for the last, like, five years.”  
  
  
“And we even went looking for them,” Buttercup added. “And nothing. We thought they’d jumped town.”  
  
  
“They did,” Blossom said thoughtfully. “We scoured the town for them for weeks, and kept coming up empty.”  
  
  
“So what are they doing back?” Bubbles asked, and was met with silence.  
  
  
Ms. Naylor coughed uncomfortably, and each girl broke out of their thoughts, directing their attention to her. She had a distasteful look on her face, as if she was going to regret what she was about to say. “We’ve been assured in an anonymous letter that the boys are going to behave, but…”  
  
  
“But you don’t trust whoever sent it,” Blossom finished flatly.  
  
  
The nervous woman nodded.  
  
  
“And you want us to keep an eye on them.”  
  
  
She nodded again.  
  
  
Blossom took a deep breath. “Does Principal Keane know about this?”  
  
  
Suddenly the woman in question emerged, looking weary and a little frustrated. “I know about it, alright,” she muttered, then held out a sheaf of papers to the girls. “Ms. Naylor, you're excused. Here, girls.”  
  
  
The three of them obediently took them. “What’s this?” Buttercup asked suspiciously, stepping aside so Ms. Naylor could exit the office.  
  
  
“Your new schedules,” Ms. Keane said, and the girls immediately snapped their heads up. “In order for us to keep tabs on the boys at all times, we’ve readjusted your schedules—”  
  
  
“What?!” Buttercup and Bubbles exclaimed as one. Blossom simply resumed studying her schedule, brow furrowed.  
  
  
“I know, girls,” Ms. Keane sighed.  
  
  
“That’s not _fair_!” Buttercup cried.  
  
  
“You haven’t even taken a good look at yours yet, Buttercup,” Ms. Keane grumbled, wrinkling her nose. “You’ll probably prefer it to your old one.”  
  
  
Blinking, Buttercup looked back at the papers in her hand.  
  
  
“Ms. Keane,” Blossom said slowly, eyes glued to her schedule, “my classes are all the same.”  
  
  
“I’ve been dropped from all my pre-AP classes,” Buttercup said, trying to mask her glee. She’d only signed up for them at the Professor’s insistence, and the joy in her voice was unmistakable. At Blossom’s glare, though, she adopted a more solemn expression.  
  
  
Bubbles was staring at hers, looking a little hurt. “I don’t… my lunch is different. I can’t eat with Will.” She was holding two sheets in her hand, and her eyes darted from one to the other. “And… how come I have two different first periods?”  
  
  
The look on Ms. Keane’s face was suddenly soft and apologetic. “Well, honey, I’m afraid that with this adjustment, you’ll have to give up one of your electives—”  
  
  
“I have to choose between Honors Chorale and Cheer Squad?!” Bubbles said, voice rising in pitch and sounding distressed. “I can’t have both?!”  
  
  
“I’m sorry, Bubbles,” Ms. Keane said, meaning it.  
  
  
“But… but Buttercup and Blossom get to keep theirs!”  
  
  
Buttercup raised a hand. “Um, actually, I _was_ dropped from those Pre-AP classes—”  
  
  
“You weren’t even looking forward to those,” Bubbles said bitterly. “Ms. Keane, I don’t get it! How come you can’t drop Buttercup from, from Basketball, or Blossom from—”  
  
  
“Bubbles, I’m sorry, I did want it to be fairer, but the superintendent… well, your sisters just… happen to really _excel_ in their school activities—”  
  
  
The stunned look on the blonde’s face silenced her. “I still don’t get it…”  
  
  
“Because I make high grades and Buttercup wins athletic competitions,” Blossom interjected, trying to keep her voice neutral. “And that brings the school a lot of prestige.”  
  
  
Buttercup looked a little pleased with herself all the sudden, while Bubbles was clearly hurt. “But… I’ve been on the Cheer Squad since I was a freshman.” She looked down at her schedules again. “And… I just got into Honors Chorale… I had to audition and everything…”  
  
  
“You have to choose, Bubbles,” Ms. Keane said firmly.  
  
  
The poor girl didn’t seem to have any idea which option would be worse. Blossom gently put a hand on Bubbles’ shoulder and asked Ms. Keane, “So what classes do we share with the boys?”  
  
  
Ms. Keane bit her lip, looking apologetic again. “Well, it's just Buttercup and Bubbles, actually, who share classes with the boys.” Before the shocked girls could interrupt again, Ms. Keane hurriedly elaborated, “Blossom is in all the Advanced Placement courses, and we can't place any of the boys in those—”  
  
  
“You can't bump her out?” Buttercup cried, and Blossom and Ms. Keane gave her a sharp look.  
  
  
“They didn't bump you out of Basketball or Volleyball for the exact same reason,” Blossom said sternly.  
  
  
“Yeah, but...” Buttercup trailed off, unsure how to continue. “Well, it just isn't fair.”  
  
  
“Gee, it sure isn't, huh Buttercup,” Bubbles said in a monotone, clearly feeling no sympathy.  
  
  
Blossom's face was still serious as she looked at Buttercup. “Are you saying you need help watching them?” she ventured cautiously.  
  
  
Buttercup's offended glare was enough of an answer. “Don't even joke.”  
  
  
Ms. Keane was looking at Bubbles again. “Have you made a choice yet, Bubbles? Choir or Cheerleading?”  
  
  
Bubbles closed her eyes and sighed, handing one of the schedules back to Ms. Keane. Ms. Keane glanced at it and grinned. “Dr. Wendell will be delighted to add your voice to the choir.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Bubbles mumbled. “But Coach Morris is going to kill me.”  
  
  
“He'll get over it, sweetie,” Ms. Keane assured her. The smile on her face dissolved as she glanced at the door.  
  
  
Blossom gave her a wry smile. “Wishing you were back teaching Kindergarten about now?”  
  
  
The Principal sighed and rolled her eyes. “Believe it or not, Blossom, when you get right down to the heart of it, kindergarteners and high schoolers have a lot more in common than you'd think."  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
The boys were almost exactly as they'd left them. Blossom stepped ahead of her sisters as they filed back into the main office, taking care to look all three of them in the eye. Butch winked as their eyes met, and she felt Buttercup bristle behind her.  
  
  
Ms. Keane came forward to stand between them and extended a palm to indicate each of the boys in turn. “Boomer, Brick, Butch.” She indicated the girls. “Blossom, Bubbles, Buttercup. Though I'm sure you don't exactly need a formal introduction.”  
  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Keane,” Blossom said, and locked eyes with Brick. His gaze hardened.  
  
  
Ms. Keane cleared her throat and continued. “Now, boys, I feel it's only fair to let you all know that, save for your free periods which are to be spent here in the office for the first few weeks, the girls will be sharing regular classes with you—”  
  
  
Brick's jaw went tight, Blossom noted.  
  
  
“Not that we don't feel you're... trustworthy—”  
  
  
“Ha!” Butch laughed.  
  
  
“But we just want to ensure everyone's safety. I'm sure you understand?”  
  
  
“Perfectly,” Brick said quietly.  
  
  
Ms. Keane's smile was thin. “Wonderful. I don't think there's anything to worry about, honestly. The girls will be sure to give you more space in time, based on good behavior, of course.”  
  
  
“I'm sure they could show us a thing or two about good behavior,” Butch leered.  
  
  
“Don't encourage us,” Buttercup snarled.  
  
  
“Anyway,” Ms. Keane interrupted, “since we’re none of us enemies here—”  
  
  
Butch and Buttercup snorted and scoffed, respectively.  
  
  
“—The least we can do is be civil and treat each other with respect and dignity,” she continued, raising her voice a little as she glared at the two of them.  
  
  
“That won’t be a problem, Principal Keane,” Blossom answered.  
  
  
“My thoughts precisely,” Brick agreed, his voice a near-growl. Neither broke eye contact, not even to glance at their siblings.  
  
  
“Now, I know it’ll seem a little juvenile to do so, but I’d like us all to shake on it.” Ms. Keane’s crisp tone was punctuated by an indication of her hand between the two parties.  
  
  
Brick’s face twitched, a brief hesitation, and Blossom instantly extended her hand, trying to keep the triumphant sneer from her expression. The look of disgust that replaced his surprise felt like sweet victory. She allowed her Politican’s Smile to creep onto her face as she opened her mouth to say—  
  
  
“We respectfully decline.” Buttercup’s voice suddenly cut through the air, twisting like a knife in Blossom’s gut. She whirled around to face her sister, but Buttercup’s eyes were dark and focused intently on the trio opposite them. “ _Respectfully_ ,” she added, her lip curling.  
  
  
Blossom narrowed her eyes at Buttercup, but she still paid her no mind.  
  
  
“Respectfully accepted.” The tone of Brick’s voice was sickeningly smug, and as Blossom turned back to him she caught the faintest glimmer of satisfaction flashing across his face before it resumed its compassionless expression. “Till class, then.”  
  
  
Like Ms. Keane, Blossom was shocked at the sheer… _audacity_ of what had just taken place. Worse yet, this unspoken battle had just ended in a draw for her.  
  
  
 _Unacceptable_ , she thought, as Brick curtly nodded at Ms. Keane and turned for the door.  
  
  
 _Unacceptable_.  
  
  
“Hey.” Her concentration was shattered by Butch’s sudden attention, and he sneered at her before he could step out the door. “I _love_ your outfit.”  
  
  
Then his eyes lingered, and then they _lingered_ , and before she had the sense to react appropriately he was already gone.  
  
  
Blossom whirled on Buttercup, livid. “Do you have _any_ idea what you just did?!” she hissed.  
  
  
“I got them out of my sight,” Buttercup grumbled. “Mission accomplished.”  
  
  
“Except that that’s the exact opposite of what we’re supposed to do,” Bubbles interjected. Ms. Keane started to herd the girls back out into the school.  
  
  
“Bubbles is right,” Blossom said in a low voice as they nodded at the Principal and huddled in the hall. “Keep an eye on them. Don't let a single one of them out of your _sight_.” A city full of aging villains and a maturing superhero team saw less and less action these days. The girls' skills had only improved as they grew, and their relentless patrolling of the city had discouraged fledgling villains from emerging. With the boys back now, though...  
  
  
Blossom was already planning emergency weekend training in her head. They couldn't afford to be complacent at a time like this. Occasional monster attacks would not keep them fresh enough if the boys decided to stir up trouble.  
  
  
She shook her head and looked each of her sisters in the eye, in turn. “I’m going to see you guys later,” Blossom said distractedly. “I really— _really_ —need to go wind down some before dance starts.”  
  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles nodded, watching their leader as she crossed the school atrium and turned the corner that would take her through the gym and to the small dance studio. The boys were clustered at the north end of the big space. The one in green turned his head, watching Blossom disappear down the hall. Buttercup made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a snarl.  
  
  
“What do you think they're doing back?” Bubbles said as Boomer caught sight of the two of them and gave them a friendly wave. They ignored him.  
  
  
Buttercup thought for a long moment. “I don't know,” she finally said, eyes on Brick as he stared off into space, his attention far away. “But something tells me this is gonna be one hell of a semester.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Blossom grabbed a CD out of her locker and made her way to the empty studio. The smile was on her face before she even set foot on the hardwood. She slipped her CD into the stereo and studied her expression in the mirror.  
  
  
The boys were manageable. Maybe. Hopefully. They just had to keep on their toes— _So to speak_ , she reflected, bouncing on her little stumps for feet. The music started up and she shook out her limbs, and within minutes she was stretching her tension away, a blissful smile on her face as she danced through the studio, with Brick, Boomer, and Butch the least of her concerns.  
  
  
After about twenty minutes or so, other girls in the Townsville High Dance Company began filtering in. Some joined Blossom in warming up, while others started stretching in social little pockets along the wall.  
  
  
“Hey, Junior Lieut.” Blossom looked up as Alicia, the Major, joined her. “You're looking far, far away this morning.”  
  
  
Blossom sighed. The Company Director walked into the studio, clapping for the girls to come to attention—the Dance IV class would be joining them soon, she was saying. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just... a lot on my mind.”  
  
  
“Blossom!” The Director, Mrs. Olson, waved at her, and she dutifully came running. Mrs. Olson handed her a folder. “Do me a favor?”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“Ohhhh, damn.” Butch eyed Blossom from across the atrium with much appreciation. “That girl’s got her glow on.”  
  
  
Boomer and Brick looked up, the former with more interest than the latter. “You think?”  
  
  
He turned back towards them with a knowing look as the first bell rang. “The bounce in her step? That smile? That little ‘hip thing’ she’s doin’? Hah! I know post-coital bliss when I see it, and she’s _radiating_ it in tidal waves.” He looked at her again as she made her way to the East Hall, oblivious to the attention. “Wonder who she’s been banging in the locker rooms.”  
  
  
“Blossom? The girl doesn’t strike me as the type,” Boomer said, amused.  
  
  
“Type or no, she’s smokin’ up and down the hall,” Butch said, observing the heads that turned as she maneuvered her way through the crowds. “If I want a slice of that, I gotta move fast.”  
  
  
Brick rolled his eyes. “Good luck getting her to ‘serve’ it to you,” he said derisively.  
  
  
“Always such a pessimist.” With a smirk and a nod at his brothers, Butch strode off, a predatory glint in his eye.  
  
  
“Well, at least Butch is having fun,” Boomer remarked, turning to Brick.  
  
  
“As long as there are skirts to chase, of course he’s gonna have fun.”  
  
  
Boomer eyed his brother. “For someone who’s supposed to be ‘on vacation,’ you don’t seem like _you’re_ having any fun.”  
  
  
Brick sighed. “You. You’re a freakin’ rocket scientist, Boomer. Now get your ass to class. I’ll catch you later.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Butch loved walking past people.  
  
  
He loved the way they scampered out of the way as they saw him coming, fled to corners and walls like the pests they were. He loved how still and silent they got as he breezed past them, as if he was royalty. More than anything, though, he loved how they would instantly explode into ill-masked whispers and chatter the moment they thought he was out of earshot.  
  
  
Butch simply loved being the center of attention.  
  
  
Blossom continued on ahead of him, unaware of her pursuer or the hungry spark in his eye. She disappeared as she rounded a corner, and as Butch approached and rounded it himself—  
  
  
Buttercup stood leaning against the corner, that murderous look in her eyes again.  
  
  
His shoes squeaked against the tile in his effort to avoid a head on collision. “Well.”  
  
  
“Stay away from her,” Buttercup growled.  
  
  
He smirked. “Who?”  
  
  
“I saw the way you were eyeing her from the second story landing,” she explained, jerking her head upward. “And don’t even think about it.”  
  
  
“You know, I think about a lot of things,” Butch shrugged nonchalantly. “Which thought should I not be thinking right now?”  
  
  
Buttercup straightened and took a threatening step forward. “Anything involving my sister,” she said in a dark voice.  
  
  
Butch considered. “And the ones that involve you?”  
  
  
“Unless they involve me kicking your ass, I recommend you avoid thinking about those, too,” she snarled. “Now get the hell out of here.”  
  
  
He lowered his head and preened. “ _Make me_.”  
  
  
Buttercup glowered at him before making a sudden grab at the back pocket of his jeans and snaking away from him to examine his schedule.  
  
  
Butch blinked in surprise and gave her an appreciative look. He hadn’t even managed to slip a thinly veiled suggestive comment at what had appeared to be Buttercup copping a feel before she’d kleptoed his schedule.  
  
  
“ _That_ was a slick move,” he admired, and her eyes flicked to him but she mostly ignored him.  
  
  
Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh, you’ve gotta be BS’ing me.” She looked up. “This is your next class.”  
  
  
He snatched his schedule back and confirmed it with a glance. “Huh! What a coincidence.” His eyes narrowed and shifted back to hers, a sly grin on his face. “So I guess I’ll just go spend some ‘quality time’ with Blossom—”  
  
  
“Excuse me?” Blossom said from behind him, suspicion etched all over her face.  
  
  
“Speak of the hot, post-coital devil,” Butch chirped. “Do tell, who was the lucky guy?”  
  
  
She granted him a steely look and shouldered past him. “Buttercup, good luck.”  
  
  
Buttercup looked like she was going to be sick. Blossom grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly before briskly walking back down the hall, issuing another glare at Butch as she passed.  
  
  
He was baffled. “Where are you going?”  
  
  
She turned and gave him a funny look. “Back to class!”  
  
  
“What? You mean this isn’t it?!”  
  
  
She came to a full stop and appeared to struggle with the thought of answering him. “I was just dropping something off.”  
  
  
Butch turned his gaze on Buttercup. “Then why did you make such a big deal about this being my next class?”  
  
  
“Because,” Buttercup said in a flat, miserable tone, “this is _my_ next class.”  
  
  
So much for the hot, fiery redhead suffering from post-coital glow.  
  
  
“I cannot believe my luck,” Buttercup said wretchedly as she shuffled past him into the room.  
  
  
Butch stared remorsefully at Blossom’s hot, retreating back. Oh, those hips. Those legs! Those… hips and legs! “You kiddin’ me?” he wailed. “I can’t believe _mine_.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Blossom would've been a far preferable classmate than Buttercup. The latter had the personality of a rabid pitbull and was particularly prone to flying off the handle any time Butch made the tiniest expression of interest in the female form. Her mood did not improve when he asked her why the leash around her neck was missing.  
  
  
It was a simple question, and it wasn't his safety he was concerned about, but rather, the numerous pieces of feminine eye candy that were bound to get in the way if she suddenly decided to go all Psycho Bitch on his ass. The rabid pitbull did not appreciate the comment.  
  
  
This went on for two classes—they shared both English and Chemistry together. Both his brothers were in the former, but as luck would have it Butch and Buttercup were seated right next to each other, ensuring she aimed most of her foaming in his direction. At least he'd managed to edge Brick between them for Chemistry so her attention was more evenly split between the two of them, leaving Butch free to ogle the finer looking girls when she was busy glaring at his brother. Eventually the bell signaling the end of second period rang, and judging from the direction they were all headed, they shared the early lunch period.  
  
  
They lost each other in the crowd of students on the way to the cafeteria, and as fun as it was to antagonize a snarling dog, Butch was secretly glad to be out of her sight. He bypassed the line in favor of finding a seat, sweeping his gaze over the crowded lunchroom. As it had been in the classrooms, several students gave him looks ranging anywhere from wary to curious to curious-and-then-some, with the final category containing a remarkably high percentage of the female student body. He suddenly felt terribly pleased with himself.  
  
  
“Okay, that shit in there they're calling food? Not eating it,” Brick’s somber voice suddenly growled beside him, and to Butch’s dismay the faces that had been furtively tilted in his direction were now expressing either abject terror or an emotion that went far past curious-and-then-some territory. He turned and scowled at Brick. His brother had an uncanny knack for inspiring those kinds of reactions wherever he went.  
  
  
“I’m going to go out and get something that doesn't make me want to throw up,” Brick muttered, and started heading for the doors.  
  
  
“I’d ask you to get me something,” Butch started—  
  
  
“And I’d tell you to ‘fuck off,’” Brick retorted—  
  
  
“Except we’re not supposed to leave the building,” Butch interrupted smugly, smirking as his brother stopped and tensed. “You must be in a bad mood if _I’m_ having to remind you about direct orders—”  
  
  
“Orders from who?”  
  
  
The boys turned to see Buttercup, angry sparks in her eyes as she looked from one to the other.  
  
  
Brick grimaced while Butch sneered, “Your Principal.”  
  
  
“I was only asking to be _polite_ ,” she snarled back. “Now sit down.”  
  
  
“Pass,” Brick said, suddenly disinterested. “I'm going to the library.”  
  
  
“No lunch?” Buttercup asked suspiciously.  
  
  
“If that's what you're calling that garbage they're serving, then no,” he said abruptly.  
  
  
She scrutinized him a second longer, then caught sight of Bubbles entering the cafeteria. She raised her hand. “Bubbles! Get over here.”  
  
  
Bubbles, who’d been chatting happily amongst friends, visibly stiffened when she saw the audience that accompanied Buttercup.  
  
  
“Yes, Buttercup?” she said warily as she approached, eyeing the boys.  
  
  
Buttercup jerked her head in Brick’s direction. “Save your lunch for Art. Right now you need to escort this guy to the library.”  
  
  
Several expressions were thrown at her at once: nervous shock from Bubbles, indignant fury from Brick, and ill-reserved glee from Butch.  
  
  
“Dude! You’ve got a babysitter!” he cackled.  
  
  
“Shut up,” Brick and Buttercup said in unison, voices equally dark.  
  
  
Brick turned to Bubbles, who recovered from her initial surprise and met his condescending gaze with level eyes.  
  
  
The adorable blonde girl astonished everybody as she indicated the door and said flatly, “After you.”  
  
  
“Hey,” Boomer said amicably as he came up. “What's up?”  
  
  
“You know, I've only got one class with you so far, and I'm already sick of seeing that stupid grin on your face,” Buttercup grumbled, narrowing her eyes at him.  
  
  
“You're coming with us to the library,” Brick told him, and Boomer's face fell. Buttercup caught the sudden nervousness that flickered across her sister's face and tried to give her a reassuring look.  
  
  
“But I'm starving!” Boomer protested.  
  
  
“Deal.” With a final chilling glare at the lot of them, Brick brushed past them, Bubbles determinedly on his heels. Boomer bit his lip, then sighed and dutifully followed.  
  
  
Now a party of two, Buttercup turned to Butch. “And you?” she said brusquely. “Are you eating or not?”  
  
  
He gave her a long look before turning to the set of vending machines not two steps away. After acquiring a bag of chips he smirked back at her as he popped it open. “I am.”  
  
  
“Clever choice,” she admitted.  
  
  
“So I take it you’re _my_ babysitter?” Butch said conversationally.  
  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Buttercup snapped. “Go find a seat.”  
  
  
Butch shrugged. “Whatever you say, Mom.” He smirked as he walked forward, feeling her glaring daggers into his back. With their banter having reached a standstill, both were suddenly aware of the tense, dead silence in the cafeteria and every other student’s eyes on them.  
  
  
Buttercup’s face suddenly did this weird, scary thing—he _could_ feel it, even though he couldn’t see it—and suddenly the cafeteria exploded into typical high school socializing, with some strange, stilted undercurrent that seemed to intensify as the two of them approached the tables.  
  
  
Butch was suddenly reminded of his mission, and studied the clusters of students they passed. Jocks, no; geeks, God no; cheerleaders—eventually yes, but for now no. He needed someone who could feed him essential information, better yet, a group of someones who could tell him exactly what he needed to know.  
  
  
“Pick up the pace,” Buttercup snapped impatiently behind him. “You’ve cut into enough of my lunch period as it is.”  
  
  
He would’ve thrown a retort back at her, but he suddenly found himself staring at precisely the clique he had been looking for, seated just east of primo cafeteria parking. Good. Neither distinctly popular nor so far off the beaten path that they were relegated to the ass end of the cafeteria.  
  
  
The group of guys he was advancing towards ceased their conversation. With one of those amicable-yet-threatening smiles he did so well, he nodded at an empty seat and said, “Make some room?”  
  
  
The guy next to it exchanged a brief glance with the rest of the group, flicked his eyes behind Butch, then said carefully, “Sure.”  
  
  
Success. Butch sat down and inclined his head in some semblance of a greeting, then noticed that—save for the boy who’d spoken—everyone’s eyes were on Buttercup. He turned. Apparently she’d stopped a few spaces back, and the expression on her face was suddenly guarded.  
  
  
He blinked, then sneered, “Join us?”  
  
  
She visibly stiffened. With a dark look in his direction, she said, “I can watch you just as easily from the other end of the room,” and turned away, waving at a group a couple of tables down.  
  
  
“Hmph.” He turned back to the group to find all pairs of eyes darting glances at the guy beside him.  
  
  
Butch could only take so much strange, uncomfortable silence. “So I’m Butch,” he finally said, emptying a handful of chips into his mouth.  
  
  
The guys fell into line. That was more like it.  
  
  
“Floyd.”  
  
  
“Lloyd.”  
  
  
“Twins,” the guy next to the twins clarified. “I’m Harry.”  
  
  
“Mike,” said the only guy who looked completely out of place, owing to the letter jacket draped over his shoulders.  
  
  
“I’m Mitch.” The guy sitting beside him was still eyeing him warily. “Um… how’s it going?”  
  
  
“Great. But look, I’m gonna be straight with you all, I don’t do small talk. I zeroed in on you because I need some information.”  
  
  
“Oh, geez.” Mike, on the other side of Mitch, made a bit of a groaning noise, while the other four suddenly seemed very on edge.  
  
  
“What kind of ‘information?’” Mitch asked, eyes a little wild with suspicion.  
  
  
“Drugs?” Lloyd asked, and Harry whacked him in the arm.  
  
  
Butch shook his head. “Not drugs, but remind me to ask you about that later.”  
  
  
“Look, we’re not a gang or anything,” Mitch started—  
  
  
“I couldn’t give a shit about that,” Butch said dismissively. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually here to make trouble.” He paused. “Sort of. Anyway, I need you guys to break down the real estate here for me.”  
  
  
“‘Real estate?’” All of them were exchanging befuddled glances now.  
  
  
“ _Girls_ ,” Butch said plainly. “Break down the food chain for me, and start at the top.”  
  
  
Mitch continued with the suspicious looking. “What's your angle?”  
  
  
Butch snorted, as if it were obvious. “I'm not even going to try to make that sexual. I told you, I just want you guys to tell me who's on the list of Girls Worth the Time of Day, starting with the ones at the top.”  
  
  
“Starting with Untouchables?” Floyd said incredulously.  
  
  
“Yes. Wait, Untouchables? What exactly does that mean?”  
  
  
The other twin considered for a moment. “Untouchables are... basically the ones who are way out of everyone's league. You know, like super high standards, they rarely ever date...” He exchanged more uncomfortable looks with the rest of the guys. “You really want us to start there?”  
  
  
“Why not? We all need a goal in life, don’t we?” Butch grinned. “I wanna know who the hottest girls in the school are—seriously, the ones that every single guy in this room would give his left nut to be with.”  
  
  
The guys exchanged looks. “Well, if you really want to know,” Harry said, hesitant, “it’s the Girls.”  
  
  
After a moment, Butch furrowed his brow. “Um, which girls, dude.”  
  
  
“No, he means, _The Girls_ ,” Floyd said.  
  
  
“The Powerpuff Girls,” Lloyd added.  
  
  
Butch wrinkled his face, recalling his previous episodes with Buttercup. They weren’t fucking serious, were they? “You’re not fucking serious, are you?” he scoffed. “I mean, shit, I won’t argue with you about Blossom, and Bubbles I can get, but _Buttercup_? _Really_?”  
  
  
Every guy at the table suddenly seemed very defensive. “Look, man, you haven’t been around for a few years or something, right?” Lloyd pointed out. “Those girls are, like, prime.”  
  
  
“I mean, the thing with Bubbles is a little weird—she’s not really an Untouchable, but she’s still crazy cute and looks _fantastic_ in her Cheerleading uniform.”  
  
  
“And Blossom’s like a fucking dream—she’s insanely smart, right, but she’s _hot_ , like, one look at her and you’re sunk, you know—”  
  
  
“Great walk—”  
  
  
“And oh man, wait till you see her dance—”  
  
  
“But what about Buttercup?” Butch snorted, darting a glance at the surly girl who was glaring at him from across the cafeteria. “Are you seriously telling me that she's got a spot on top of this list?”  
  
  
The guys all looked very grim. Mitch took a loud slurp of his soda.  
  
  
Harry sighed. “She’s the freaking star athlete of the school, man.”  
  
  
“She’s a bit of a hardass.”  
  
  
“She’s a bit _kickass_ , really.”  
  
  
“She doesn’t take shit from anyone.”  
  
  
“She acts like she’s one of the guys.”  
  
  
“Dude, there’re even _chicks_ who dig her.”  
  
  
“Do you really expect me to be surprised by that?” Butch said dryly.  
  
  
“Look look look,” Floyd interrupted, shaking his head and holding up his hands. “The point is, even though she’s, um, the ‘scariest’ one of the three, and the one most likely to rip your balls off if you get near her, the girl definitely qualifies as Prime Real Estate.”  
  
  
“Like Dream House Real Estate.”  
  
  
“Like you’ve got better odds at winning the Lotto than this piece of property.”  
  
  
Butch was laughing, incredulous. “I don’t—”  
  
  
“Look at it this way,” Harry pointed out. “The fact is, the three of them are _celebrities_. They’re public figures. Good looking public figures. Good looking public figures that fight monsters and protect the city.”  
  
  
“And look good doing it,” Floyd added, in case Butch hadn't gotten the memo.  
  
  
“They’re famous,” Harry continued. “They’re _popular_. I mean, they do freaking everything—one’s a cheerleader, one’s an athlete, one’s a freaking genius, and they just got this crazy high profile endorsement gig over the summer and that’s just like the tip of the iceberg. They’re so far out of everyone’s league that it’s _impossible_ for them not to be considered Prime Real Estate.”  
  
  
“Have you seen those ads? For the shoes?”  
  
  
“Oh Jesus, I love those shoe ads…”  
  
  
“Those things were advertising shoes? I thought they were advertising wet dreams.”  
  
  
“And the city puts them all over _everything_.”  
  
  
“Butch, you have to admit that a girl who can kick your ass, while frightening and emasculating on the one hand, is sickeningly hot and sexy on the other,” Mike pointed out, finally joining in the conversation. “So Buttercup might not float every guy’s boat, but for a lot of the guys in the room, she’s definitely worth losing your left nut over.”  
  
  
“Plus I’ve heard rumor her secret power is in her _tongue_ ,” Lloyd said solemnly.  
  
  
The other side of the table seemed to take a moment in silent contemplation of the thought. Butch, Mitch, and Mike only stared at their slack expressions.  
  
  
“So, okay, the Girls are cream of the crop here,” Butch finally conceded. He took a moment to reminisce about the heavenly vision that was Blossom's legs as they (unfortunately) carried her away from him.  
  
  
Harry shrugged. “Bubbles is probably your easiest shot. Though she's ever only dated jocks.”  
  
  
“That stems more from a lack of other guys asking her,” Mike immediately said.  
  
  
“Says the one jock at the table who’s ever dated her,” muttered Mitch.  
  
  
“Hey, I’m just saying I know her, we’re old friends, you know—”  
  
  
Butch wasn’t really interested. “And Buttercup and Blossom are definitely Untouchables—one because she’s a Scary Psycho Freak Who Devours Men Whole, and the other because…” He paused. “Hold up. Why exactly is Blossom considered an Untouchable?”  
  
  
“Dude,” Harry groaned. “Didn’t we just tell you like five seconds ago?”  
  
  
“No man, I mean, what’s her deal? Who does she date?”  
  
  
“Nobody,” the guys all said in unison.  
  
  
“And it’s not for lack of trying,” Floyd said. “Guys are always asking her out. She just always says, ‘No.’”  
  
  
“Hell if we know why,” Lloyd shrugged.  
  
  
Mitch suddenly stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll see you guys later. I wanna beat the Lunch rush when the bell goes off.” After a pause, he said, “Nice meeting you.”  
  
  
Butch waved distractedly in the boy's direction. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully as Mitch edged out behind him. “I never would’ve guessed Buttercup would classify as an Untouchable.” He made a face.  
  
  
The guys kept exchanging looks. Butch stared at them. “What the fuck? Do you all have a mad boner for her or something?”  
  
  
“ _No_ ,” Floyd, Lloyd, and Harry all said simultaneously, vigorously shaking their heads.  
  
  
Mike moved over, taking Mitch's seat so he was sitting right next to Butch. “She just used to hang with us guys.”  
  
  
Butch looked up in surprise. “What?”  
  
  
The twins shifted in their seats. “She used to hang with us,” Floyd repeated. “We were a... really tight group.”  
  
  
“It’s actually kinda weird, not having her sit with us,” Harry said, chancing a glance in her direction.  
  
  
“Huh. Guess I fucked it up for the group today, yeah?” Butch smirked.  
  
  
Harry shook his head. “No fucking way she’d sit here anyway. Not after the breakup.”  
  
  
“‘Breakup?!’” Butch's jaw dropped and he gaped at the lot of them, disbelief all over his face. “Didn’t you just say she was an Untouchable? I thought she didn’t date anyone?”  
  
  
The guys on the other side of the table clamped their mouths shut.  
  
  
“Oh, fuck you all,” Butch said. “Don't you dare leave me hanging after that.”  
  
  
All of them, Mike included, looked like they were weighing their options: whether to get the information pummeled out of them by Butch now, or the information pummeled back in by Buttercup later.  
  
  
Mike sighed and said, “Well, the way news travels here, you'd find out by the end of the day anyway. She’s only ever dated one guy, and it basically went down in epic flames.”  
  
  
“So who the fuck was it?”  
  
  
If the guys exchanged another look Butch was going to kick all their asses on general principle. They all adopted grim expressions, and Mike finally nodded in the direction of the door. “He just left the table.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Bubbles stared at the boy next to her as they settled in for their last class. She'd gotten relatively lucky—excluding Art, there was only one class today that she shared by herself with one of the boys, and that was Algebra II with Boomer, who seemed the tamest of the three of them. Bubbles and Buttercup both had History with all three, and judging from how she was acting by the end of class, Buttercup's patience was already wearing thin. Something in the back of Bubbles' mind figured there was a reason they'd opted to place the boys in more classes with Buttercup over Bubbles, and while she couldn't say she was disappointed, she definitely felt offended.  
  
  
All thoughts of that variety, though, were far away as she took in Brick, looking... out of place in the Art room with her. Not that he didn't belong physically, just... Bubbles was suddenly very interested in seeing the portfolio he must've submitted to place in Art IV immediately as a new student.  
  
  
“When they told you to watch me,” he abruptly said, jarring her from her internal thoughts, “they didn't mean, 'literally.'” He issued a pointed glare at her—trying to intimidate her, she realized. He'd done it earlier, too, when he'd dragged Boomer along to the library; he must've thought she'd crumble like a little girl in the face of two big, scary boys.  
  
  
Bubbles frowned. Everybody was always underestimating her, she bitterly reflected. Well, the hell with them.  
  
  
“I know,” she said slowly, mirroring his cold tone. “I was only wondering how an evil criminal like you could possibly have any beauty in him worthy of being considered art.”  
  
  
That struck a nerve. He set his jaw and growled, “You'd be surprised.”  
  
  
“Oh, I'm sure,” she agreed, sarcasm curling around every syllable. The look of hatred he issued in her direction as the teacher called class to attention felt deliciously deserved and, oddly, refreshing.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
The end of the day couldn't come soon enough.  
  
  
Brick wasn’t bothering with his books; he'd expected high school to pose _some_ sort of challenge but clearly that was not going to be the case. He stashed them into his locker with a look of disgust for good measure and slammed it shut, figuring he wouldn’t be seeing it again till the end of the school year.  
  
  
The chilling reminder that he was stuck here— _here_ , for fuck’s sake—for another five months only further soured his mood. The girls, too—with Buttercup and Bubbles breathing down his neck all day, it was all he could do to keep from going postal. He hated being watched when he hadn't solicited the attention. His pissiness rose off of him in waves, frightening, sinister, hostile waves, and those with proper senses of intuition wisely edged around him as he made his way to the nearest exit.  
  
  
He glimpsed Boomer studying a bulletin board, his blue eyes intense. Brick shouldered his brother as he stopped next to him, jarring him from his daze. “What’s up.”  
  
  
Boomer shot Brick an impish grin. “My ticket to High School Stardom. ‘Scuse me, bro, I’m gonna run.”  
  
  
Before he could weasel an explanation from him, Boomer had jetted off and through the doors of the rapidly depopulating school. Brick turned and scanned the board for what had held his brother’s attention—  
  
  
“I’m warning you.”  
  
  
Brick squinted his eyes and groaned, thumping his head against the board. Jesus bleeding Christ. “What. The _fuck_. Do you want.”  
  
  
“I want you to watch your language, for one thing,” Blossom said in a clipped tone.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Boomer shifted his cargo into a more comfortable position on his back, nodding amiably at the jittery security guards the city had stationed around their complex. Brick had said something about them being around for the first two weeks in some pathetic effort to make sure the boys weren’t _that_ eager to cause trouble. They may as well have sent a kindergarten class, seriously. As if twenty grown men would be able to stop the Boys if they _really_ felt like starting something…  
  
  
He shook his head clear and took off, taking a moment to get his bearings in the sky. He hadn’t been here for a few years and was readjusting to the layout of this city, after all, but he could read a map well enough… There, in a suburb literally next door to Townsville High. That was the place. If he really focused his hearing, he could make out the dissonant music drifting from the garage…  
  
  
He landed in the driveway, startling the three man band in the midst of settling into practice. One at the drums, one clutching a P-Bass, and the other cradling a Squier…  
  
  
Boomer cocked his head and squinted at the guitar. “Squier Telecaster.” He nodded good-naturedly, trying to mask his pride at his own. “Not a bad instrument.”  
  
  
“Um, do you need something, dude?” the brown-haired, scruffy looking guy with the bass spoke up, voice wary.  
  
  
Boomer grinned and took a step, unsurprised when the group shrank back a bit. “I’m here to… huh. How do the pros say it? Aw, fuck it.”  
  
  
He whipped his Gibson SG around to the front, smirking as he took in their shocked faces. He ran a loving hand along its neck.  
  
  
“I’m here to join the band,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“So this is your Welcome Committee?” Brick was making an effort not to turn on his most frightening, scathing glare at the girl in front of him, figuring it would do him no good to fuel any suspicions she might have about his integrity. With the way she was scowling at him, though, he found himself having to exercise a significant amount of self-discipline. “Giving newcomers the third degree?”  
  
  
“You’re no newcomer,” she scoffed. “I know _exactly_ who you are.”  
  
  
He bristled. Fuck discipline. He felt his gaze harden and the very air around him went dark and cold. Even Blossom wasn’t immune to his effect; there was the barest tensing of her muscles as he angled his head to glare at her properly.  
  
  
“Is that right,” he said in a low voice, letting just a hint of peril wind itself around his words as he took note of the tightening of her jaw. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Mitch was more intimidated by super-powered beings than he let on. However, having spent a decent portion of his life as Buttercup’s only best friend, only boyfriend, and now, only ex, he’d become fairly competent at the art of masking fear.  
  
  
Besides, Boomer was here on serious business. And in turn, Mitch could not take any job application lightly. There were important matters to discuss.  
  
  
He stepped forward until he was looking Boomer in the eye, clutched his bass for support, and narrowed his eyes. “What’s your favorite instrument?”  
  
  
“I’m holding it,” Boomer smoothly replied.  
  
  
“Best guitarist?”  
  
  
“Dude, Hendrix, hands down.”  
  
  
“Singer?”  
  
  
“Freddie Mercury.”  
  
  
“Best guitar solo?”  
  
  
Mitch was firing these out one after the other, but Boomer didn’t miss a single beat. “Cosmetic reply is ‘Stairway to Heaven’ or ‘Comfortably Numb,’ but I’ll have to go with Steely Dan’s ‘Reelin’ in the Years.’”  
  
  
“Best _contemporary_ guitar solo.” This tended to always stump folks, or at least elicit some painfully substandard responses.  
  
  
Boomer smirked. “The White Stripes’ ‘Ball and Biscuit.’ Though we’re ignoring the fact that the past twenty years worth of guitar solos can’t hold a candle to the twenty years that came before it.”  
  
  
“I’d argue that point,” Mitch said, a little defensively.  
  
  
The smug bastard that stood before him actually snorted. “And I’d win.”  
  
  
Mitch pulled back a bit to eye him. “Alright,” he said slowly. “So you know your shit, I’ll give you that. Let’s see how well you play.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“You know what, _sweetheart_ ,” Brick enunciated, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “let me clear this up for you: I. Don’t. _Care_. I don’t. I’ve got bigger things on my mind than juvenile delinquency in your pitiful excuse for a city.”  
  
  
Blossom’s eyes went wide. Bigger things? What did that mean?  
  
  
“Yeah, there’s that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look you do so well again.” He cocked his head and glowered at her. “I gave up on this place years ago. I didn’t come back to waste my time with you and your little ‘Hero Play’ shit.”  
  
  
“So why bother coming back at all?” Blossom said in a low voice. “It isn’t like anybody here _missed you_.”  
  
  
“As far as I can tell, that’s none of your business.” Brick stepped close, towering over her, as if he was trying to stare her down. She didn’t flinch back. “I told you already, I don’t have any intentions of causing trouble. And believe me, even if I did?”  
  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re barely worth the effort.”

.~.

“He’s such a supercilious… _RGH_!” Blossom slammed the oven door with unnecessary force.  
  
  
“Go ahead, say it,” Buttercup urged as she manned the stove. “Say he’s a bastard, he deserves it.”  
  
  
“I mean, the way he _looks_ at me! At _us_! Like we’re lower than dirt! He’s such a… he’s so full of himself!” Blossom threw the towel in her hands down on the table. “If he didn’t want to come back and came back anyway, he doesn’t exactly have a lot of license to moan and groan about it, _especially_ if he made that decision himself!”  
  
  
“How’s the chicken?” Buttercup asked, poking at the veggies.  
  
  
“ _CHICKEN’S ALMOST READY_.” Blossom announced louder than necessary, and resumed looking livid.  
  
  
“You think he’s bad, you haven’t even _dealt_ with that brother of his,” Buttercup said sourly as she adjusted the heat. “God, the way he looks at girls! Like… like he’s a starving man at a buffet, or something! At least Brick’s not a perverted jackass!”  
  
  
“He doesn’t need to be perverted to be a jackass,” Blossom grumbled, yanking open cabinets and taking down plates.  
  
  
“And then he opens his mouth! And the way he talks to them, it’s even more disgusting than the way he _looks_ at ‘em!”  
  
  
“He always has that look on his face, that ‘holier than thou’ expression, and I just want to smack him!”  
  
  
“And _then_ he’s all, Oh, you so want me, I’m so hot, you totally can’t keep your hands off of me—”  
  
  
“And even when he’s making eye contact he looks like he’s insulting you—”  
  
  
Blossom slammed down the stack of plates just as the Professor poked his head in the kitchen. “Is everything okay in here?”  
  
  
Two sets of eyes, one blazing green and one blazing pink, whirled on him. “YES!”  
  
  
As the Professor backed away, eyes wide and hands raised in a gesture that clearly said Whatever, I Just Live Here, the remaining Powerpuff walked into the kitchen. “Are you guys even talking about the same person?”  
  
  
Blossom bellowed, “We’re talking about Brick!” at about the same time Buttercup shouted, “We’re talking about Butch!” However, seeing as how they both spoke at the same time, the end result just sounded like… well, two very angry girls screaming in the kitchen.  
  
  
Bubbles looked between them both, making an Uh, Yeah face. “Been practicing voice projection, I see.”  
  
  
Buttercup shook her head as she turned off the stove and poured the veggies into a serving bowl. “Whatever. Get the chicken out of the stove, wouldja?”  
  


  
Blossom merely fumed silently as she finished setting the table, then walked out to coax the Professor back into the kitchen.  
  
  
“The entire neighborhood could hear you screaming, you know,” Bubbles said offhandedly as she freed the chicken from its oven prison.  
  
  
“What, the Pretty Boy hasn’t pissed you off yet?” Buttercup muttered.  
  
  
“Boomer? He didn’t do much of anything. Went to class, sat around, joked with other kids… when they weren’t, you know, avoiding him in case he decided to kill them. Brick's... scary, but he really wasn't that bad either.” She carried the chicken to the table and said thoughtfully, “I don't think Boomer's a very good student.”  
  
  
“Coming from you, that must mean he’s _awful_.”  
  
  
“Oh yeah, like you’re an outstanding example,” Bubbles retorted, taking her seat as Blossom and the Professor rejoined them.  
  
  
“Okay, enough of that,” the Professor announced in his best This Topic of Discussion is Closed tone. “Let’s talk about something happy at dinner.” He paused a moment. “For a change.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
A week went by in much the same vein, with some adjustments. Blossom, having no classes with any of the boys, was mercifully spared another confrontation with Brick, so her mood was much improved. Bubbles remained neutral but wary. Buttercup, however, was arriving home in worse spirits day by day.  
  
  
“He is sitting with my _friends_! Like every day!”  
  
  
“Former friends,” Bubbles corrected as she tried desperately to concentrate on her Algebra II homework. “I don't get this conic section stuff.”  
  
  
“He's joined the boys' basketball team! I have to _share_ the court with him every other day!”  
  
  
“I heard Butch is pretty good,” Bubbles said conversationally, checking her answers. Shoot. She was so going to fail this test.  
  
  
“ _And I can't get him to stop jeering at my teammates_! And the worst part? _They totally encourage him_!”  
  
  
Bubbles scoffed. “You should hear the girls in Choir go on about Brick. Judy has English with him, and can't stop talking about how 'dark and mysterious' he is.”  
  
  
“And now Blossom wants me to go scope out the crowd at the Battle of the Bands tonight because they're supposed to be going,” Buttercup snapped scornfully. “I don't get why she doesn't just go herself.”  
  
  
Bubbles' head snapped up. “That's tonight?”  
  
  
Buttercup didn't say anything. Bubbles guessed she was still sore about leaving the band.  
  
  
After a bout of silence, Bubbles sighed and shut her textbook. “Well, I'm doomed on this test. Why don't you get ready, I can finish cleaning up in here.”  
  
  
Her sister grumbled something under her breath, but darted upstairs to change. Bubbles piled the rest of the dishes into the sink, listening as Buttercup zipped back downstairs and out the front door, throwing a hurried, “Bye,” over her shoulder.  
  
  
With the kitchen to herself, Bubbles hummed cheerily as she set a plate of food in the microwave for the Professor—he was working late tonight, no telling when he'd emerge from the lab. A sudden chirp alerted Bubbles to her cell phone, and she flipped it open.  
  
  
“Hey Blossom. Still at your charity thing? What's up?”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
It didn't take Bubbles long to find Buttercup at the edge of the crowd of students gathered around the ramshackle stage in the school atrium. Her dark-haired sister was doing her scary pouting face and the crowd was giving her a lot of room.  
  
  
“Hey,” she greeted lightly, and Buttercup grunted. “Blossom mentioned you might… need a hand,” Bubbles said, choosing her words carefully. She caught sight of Brick and Butch, about ten feet away in the center of the crowd.  
  
  
Buttercup snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s not like _she’s_ been assuming any responsibility for the boys lately, anyway.”  
  
  
“She doesn't—she wishes she could help,” Bubbles countered lamely, eyes on Butch and Brick as they socialized—if you could call Brick standing and glaring in three hundred and sixty degrees socializing.  
  
  
“Wouldn’t know.” There was a bitter edge to her sister’s voice, and Bubbles turned her attention back to Buttercup. “She never tells me anything, anyway.”  
  
  
An uncomfortable moment passed. Bubbles meant to contest it, but the fact of the matter was that Buttercup wasn’t in the wrong. She wasn’t really given to girl talk, so over the years Blossom and Bubbles had bonded over shopping and hair and Bubbles’ boyfriends while Buttercup had busied herself with… well, guy things. Now that she wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with her former knot of friends, Bubbles imagined she was feeling a little left out.  
  
  
Even with her fellow teammates, Buttercup was not, by nature, a social butterfly. Besides, she’d spent the past ten years glued to Mitch and his crew, ostracizing herself from other social circles in the process.  
  
  
Bubbles sighed and settled a hand on her sibling’s shoulder, ignoring the startled look she gave her. “At least the boys aren’t giving us more grief than—”  
  
  
She stopped. Something occurred to her as she stared at the two Rowdyruffs.  
  
  
Buttercup seemed to read her mind. “Hey. Where’s Blondie?”  
  
  
“Was he here when you got here?” Bubbles searched the audience as the emcee introduced the next band.  
  
  
Buttercup made to respond, but suddenly her attention flickered to the corner of the stage. Bubbles followed her gaze, seeing Mitch walk on, bass in hand.  
  
  
“Oh,” she said lightly, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. “I didn’t realize No Neck Joe was still performing—”  
  
  
“Cameron graduated early,” Buttercup interrupted. “They couldn’t have found a replacement for him _and_ me in just a month. That’s a lead guitarist and a singer…”  
  
  
The look of mild surprise on the two girls’ faces didn’t last.  
  
  
Bubbles’ eyes went wide and she clapped a hand to her mouth. She heard a quiet gasp from her sister, followed by a sudden drop in temperature as Buttercup’s gaze steeled. She didn’t turn to verify the anger that had clearly hardened Buttercup’s face. Boomer was casually taking center stage, adjusting the guitar he had slung over his shoulder.  
  
  
She chanced a look at the other two boys, not ten feet away. Butch seemed to be stifling laughter, while Brick just stared, shell-shocked.  
  
  
“His brothers look just as stunned as we are,” she whispered to Buttercup. Whispered, because the entire atrium had been subdued into low, rumbling murmurs the second Boomer had set foot on stage.  
  
  
“The bastard’s got a Gibson SG,” Buttercup seethed, glaring at the instrument in the bastard’s hands. “Stolen, I’ll bet. That bastard. I can’t believe that bastard’s stalking onstage with _my_ band with _that_ guitar in his hands.”  
  
  
“Maybe he sucks,” Bubbles said, hearing, for all her sister’s anger, the smidgen of hurt behind it. “Maybe he’s terrible.” She suddenly sensed Boomer looking in their direction. Crap. He’d probably heard them. He did have superhearing, after all.  
  
  
“I don’t see a singer onstage yet.” Buttercup ignored her sister’s efforts at placating her and instead raked her eyes across the stage for who was going to take the mic stand. Her mood was not improved when the blonde boy stepped up and blew experimentally into the microphone, then settled, planting his feet and cracking his neck.  
  
  
“You are so kidding me,” she hissed, and Bubbles caught her biting her lip. The blonde girl shifted her gaze to the boys once more. Butch seemed to have settled down and was watching with a sneer on his face, evidently anticipating a humiliating episode to take place within seconds onstage. Brick, on the other hand, had a clouded expression as he stared at Boomer. From the look of concentration in his eyes, he seemed to be trying to will a mental message to his brother. If Boomer noticed (which, in Bubbles’ opinion, would’ve been hard not to, considering the intensity of Brick’s gaze was practically clearing a straight path from him to the stage), he ignored it outright, humming as he plucked out a couple of notes and turned, nodding at his bandmates.  
  
  
Buttercup shifted at her side, still looking murderous. Bubbles leant in and comforted in a low voice, “Maybe he sucks. Really. I mean, he’ll have to concentrate on singing and playing lead guitar at the same time—”  
  
  
The stage suddenly exploded into a wave of sound, one that blew across the atrium and dropped everyone’s jaw at once, save for Brick’s.  
  
  
Bubbles winced as she watched Boomer’s hands flying along the strings, inwardly marveling not only at the magnitude of articulation he was managing, but at the pitch perfect notes he was hitting—at the speed he was going, it was unreal. Cameron had been a good guitarist; she’d heard the band practice many times before, but Boomer was—  
  
  
“Holy shit,” Buttercup gasped as the crowd recovered and started to cheer. “He’s fucking _sick_.” She looked as if she might be a whole different kind of sick herself.  
  
  
“Well,” Bubbles said dubiously, “he’s still gotta sing…”  
  
  
After he came in about ten seconds later, Bubbles gave up on making excuses. “Okay. He definitely _doesn’t_ suck. Not even a little bit.”  
  
  
To Bubbles’ trained musical ear, every single note he hit vocally and instrumentally was spot on. To top it off, he was remarkably charismatic and had great stage presence to boot, and the audience was definitely picking up on his enthusiasm and firing it back in waves. Yet, as easy as it was to get sucked into his performance, Bubbles’ thoughts were on her sister, wondering what she made of the crowd’s reaction. Buttercup had been a popular girl onstage; she’d been a great performer too. Granted, she hadn’t had any formal training and had refused to join Choir with Bubbles and Blossom in middle school, but she had a natural ear for pitch and a throaty, raspy quality to her voice that oozed charisma. Not to mention she’d _loved_ the attention.  
  
  
Bubbles looked at Buttercup, expecting her to jump the boy who’d taken her place at any moment. But those green eyes weren’t fixed on him. Instead they glared at his bandmates—her former friends—each in turn, from one to another to another and back, taking her time especially with the boy plucking at the bass. The bass she’d spent endless months saving up for. The bass she’d given him his last birthday.  
  
  
The look in Buttercup’s eyes as she looked at Mitch screamed hate and betrayal and a deep-rooted aching that Bubbles rarely saw in her dark-haired sister.  
  
  
Bubbles took a deep breath, sympathetic, and reached for Buttercup’s hand.  
  
  
Buttercup whirled away before they could connect, fuming. “ _Fuck. This_.”  
  
  
She disappeared into the crowd, and Bubbles would’ve gone after her if there hadn’t been three dangerous, super-powered boys clustered too close with too many people. She sighed as the band finished their first number, sending the crowd into raucous, whooping applause. Butch looked disappointed at having missed an opportunity to mock his sibling, while their leader merely looked a little grim. Not a big change from his usual expression.  
  
  
Boomer seemed to be having trouble keeping the glow from his face. Bubbles smiled wryly, reminded of Buttercup’s post-performance exhilaration.  
  
  
After a moment's consideration, she changed her mind and went off to find Buttercup. Blossom would get after the both of them later, but family... family had to come before the good of the people, sometimes.  
  
  
Bubbles darted one last glance at the boys in the crowd and the one on stage as he planted his lips against the mic and started the next song. They'd been here for two weeks and hadn't done anything yet. One more night wouldn't make a difference.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
The end of the evening found Buttercup sulking in her bed, refusing to address her siblings until the following morning at school. Bubbles was used to waiting. Besides, Buttercup always came around eventually.  
  
  
“I hate him.”  
  
  
Bubbles threw her dark-haired sister a look and continued to fiddle with her locker combination. “Boomer?”  
  
  
“I was talking about Mitch,” Buttercup snarled, ramming her bag’s contents into her locker with unnecessary violence. “But I hate that one too. As well as everybody in the freaking hall _who can’t shut up about how AWESOME he was last night_!”  
  
  
She issued the Buttercup Death Glare at everyone within a five-mile radius, and sure enough, the hallway chatter expounding upon Boomer’s awesomeness instantly subsided and people began furtively emptying themselves into classrooms.  
  
  
Bubbles shrugged her book tote on and shut her locker. “Except he was, you know, pretty good. From an objective standpoint.”  
  
  
Buttercup had a look on her face that suggested she was torn between calling her sister a traitor or questioning exactly when and how she’d learned the word ‘objective,’ when Blossom suddenly came dashing up.  
  
  
“Girls!” she cried, her expression grave. “We have an emergency!”  
  
  
.~.  
  


  
Blossom and Buttercup were prone to disagreeing about everything, whether it was strategy during a monster attack or what to say during a press conference or what movie to rent on a Saturday night. Bubbles was used to this, and took advantage of the time to meditate in her own Bubbles-y way, considering fluffy, positive things, like puppies and rainbows and Will. Eventually her sisters would stop and ask her exactly what she found so delightful about them arguing the virtues of _Koyaanisqatsi_ vs. _Nightmare on Elm Street_.  
  
  
However, on this choice occasion, instead of going to her happy place Bubbles’ brow was furrowed in deep, serious thought. Her sisters were oblivious to her atypical demeanor.  
  
  
“You are not serious!” Buttercup hissed.  
  
  
“We have to keep an eye on them!” Blossom hissed back. “And if that means sacrificing a little—”  
  
  
“A little dignity?! A little pride?! Absolutely not! She wouldn’t even want us there, there is no way we are going to grovel for—”  
  
  
“It doesn’t matter what Princess wants,” Blossom interrupted. “What matters is we make sure that the boys stay out of trouble and that nobody gets hurt!”  
  
  
“Let Princess take the heat for it! It’s her party, her guests, her house! Let them trash it if they want to, or whatever else they feel like fucking up, it isn’t our—”  
  
  
“Watch your mouth,” Blossom snapped. “And you’re wrong. It is our responsibility. We protect this city. We are responsible for it. And if we don’t do everything within our power to make sure nothing happens to it or its citizens—”  
  
  
Buttercup groaned. “Save the speech, Blossom—”  
  
  
“—then we take the heat.” Blossom took a deep breath and settled back as Buttercup turned to her locker and started to bang her head against it. “… Stop that.”  
  
  
“No.” Buttercup carried on with the banging. Next to her, Bubbles’ brow slowly relaxed and she sighed, having reached some sort of internal conclusion. She turned to Blossom.  
  
  
“When is Princess’ party?” she asked.  
  
  
Blossom blinked and looked at her. “Friday. Tomorrow night.”  
  
  
Bubbles sighed again. Buttercup stopped banging—there was a considerable dent in her locker door now—and turned her attention to Bubbles too.  
  
  
“ _I’ll_ ask her if we can come,” Bubbles said resolutely. She gave her sisters a look. “I’m a better people person, anyway.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
The majority of Bubbles’ day was spent fervently brainstorming how to convince a girl—who had long ago decided that Bubbles and her sisters were her mortal enemies until the end of all time and then some—that she needed to do her civic duty and extend them an invitation to one of her parties.  
  
  
Bubbles tried to listen in on as much of the gossip as she could—clearly Boomer was invited, but there seemed to be some speculation as to whether his brothers were going or not. She considered approaching Brick in Art and, after a significant amount of attempting to strategize a plan, Bubbles simply shook out her nerves and leaned over as Brick studied his blank canvas.  
  
  
“So,” she said lightly, making sure her voice sounded casual, “I heard Princess invited you to her party?”  
  
  
“I heard it isn’t any of your God damn business.” Brick’s voice was almost as cold as the glare he shot in her direction. “Now stop interrupting my concentration.”  
  
  
Well, so much for that.  
  
  
As class wore on, Bubbles started to fret. How was she going to do this? Princess made no efforts to hide her disdain for the Girls, and no amount of groveling Bubbles was willing to do would get them any closer to Princess’ doorstep. Before they’d parted ways that morning, Blossom had suggested they bring Ms. Keane or the Mayor into it and order Princess to invite them, if necessary. But that seemed a tad dramatic.  
  
  
In any case, thinking about it wasn’t going to get Bubbles anywhere. So once the final bell rang and Bubbles had ensured Brick was off the school grounds without anything Evil happening, she set her jaw and headed for the main entrance, where she found Princess.  
  
  
The redhead stopped chatting with her cohorts long enough to direct a frosty eye in Bubbles’ direction before flipping her perfectly coiffed ringlets and turning back to the group.  
  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said in lofty tones, “my Bug-Eyed Freak Shield is clearly on the fritz today.” She turned a bemused eye on Bubbles again as her friends obliged her with laughter. “Obviously it wasn’t worth the money I paid for it.”  
  
  
Bubbles ignored the dig and smiled as naturally as she could. “Hello, Princess.”  
  
  
Princess’ expression soured. “I don’t believe I said that to solicit conversation from you. Did it sound like an invitation?”  
  
  
“Funny you should mention invitations,” Bubbles said, trying to look beseeching. If she was this close to the shark tank, she might as well jump.  
  
  
The other girl’s eyes widened and her jaw went slack. “Oh… _oh no_.” She started to laugh, a snippy, high-pitched sound that pierced the air and disturbed the wildlife. “You are not asking what I think you are asking!”  
  
  
“In all fairness, I haven’t asked yet—”  
  
  
“You don’t need to.” Princess immediately stopped laughing and turned a grim eye on Bubbles. “Because the answer is _no_. Though if you were planning on going back in time to treat me with the ten years’ worth of _respect_ I so deserve, you could _consider_ asking me again.”  
  
  
“Look, I know we’ve… had our disagreements in the past, but this is a matter of—”  
  
  
“Of you not being extraordinary enough for my party?” Princess finished, and at the look she gave her group, they politely snickered. “And realizing that? And also realizing that you and your sisters actually owe _me_ , so the idea that you’re the one asking a favor is absolutely preposterous?”  
  
  
Bubbles couldn’t help it; she adopted a confused expression. “Um… what is it that we owe you, exactly?”  
  
  
“Hello? Acknowledgement of my—ugh, like I even care anymore. At least I can derive some satisfaction out of saying this.” Princess cocked her hips and extended a prim, manicured finger in Bubbles’ face. “I’d rather drop dead than invite you or your stupid sisters into my house. But if you do, in fact, drop dead, give me a call. Then we can talk.”  
  
  
Princess shouldered her ten gallon purse, and waved at her friends to disperse; her limo was pulling up. Bubbles tightened her jaw. “Princess, please, we’re only worried what the boys might do—”  
  
  
“Oh, trust me, if I have it my way, they can do whatever they like,” Princess said in a low, throaty voice, and stepped toward her car. After a few seconds, she stomped her foot. “ _Excuse me_?! Care to open the door, you worthless piece of—”  
  
  
The door swung open and Princess gasped, almost stumbling back into Bubbles. A slender, aristocratic woman was lifting herself out of the car, her eye scrutinizing Princess.  
  
  
“That’s no way for a young lady to talk,” the woman said in a familiar snippy, regal voice. “What on _earth_ has your father been teaching you?”  
  
  
Bubbles blinked. The resemblance was remarkable. Same red hair, same slender build, same angular features—  
  
  
“M- _Mother_?!” Princess cried. “What are you _doing_ here?!”  
  
  
Against her better judgment, Bubbles gawked.  
  
  
Princess’ mother, who looked to be in her early forties and donned a sharp looking women’s suit, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand why you have to say that like it’s out of the ordinary for a parent to wish to see her child.”  
  


  
Princess sputtered, “B-b-but I thought—I thought you were in France—”  
  
  
“Indeed I was. I expected you to join me as soon as you started high school, but since now it is your Junior year and you’re still _here_ —God knows what your father was thinking, honestly—it became apparent to me that you weren’t going to France of your own volition, so I came to retrieve you.” She narrowed her eyes, and Princess—wonder of wonders—actually shrank back a little. “Every Morbucks has graduated from the International School of Toulouse, and your father’s stubbornness is _not_ going to break that tradition.”  
  
  
“But I don’t want to go,” Princess said in a small, petulant voice.  
  
  
Mrs. Morbucks was undeterred. “Your stubbornness isn’t breaking the tradition either, darling. Now say goodbye to your friend and get in the car. We’ve a lot of catching up to do.”  
  
  
Princess wrinkled her nose and shot Bubbles a derisive look, seeming to have forgotten that the girl had been standing just behind her the entire time. “‘Friend?’ _Please_ , Mother. This girl is _not_ —”  
  
  
Recognition was suddenly awash on Mrs. Morbucks face, and she stepped closer to get a better look at Bubbles. Bubbles summoned as cheerful a smile as she could and nodded politely.  
  
  
“I recognize you,” the woman said thoughtfully. Her eyes lit up. “You’re one of the superhero girls, aren’t you?”  
  
  
“ _Mother_ ,” Princess said, her voice laced with scorn. “ _Please_.”  
  
  
“Oh, Princess, behave. You know, you and your sisters are very famous, we used to see you on the telly all the time—”  
  
  
“ _In Europe_?” Princess clamored.  
  
  
“It really is very brave work you do, goodness, I didn’t realize you were so young! And already shouldering so much responsibility!”  
  
  
“Mother, we have to leave,” Princess hissed through her teeth, and hustled into the car. “ _Now_. Please say goodbye and let’s go.”  
  
  
“In a minute, Princess. Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself.” Mrs. Morbucks extended her hand and smiled warmly. “Pénélope Rousseau-Morbucks.”  
  
  
Bubbles took it and nodded. “Pleased to meet you! I’m Bubbles. You just came from France? _Comment allez vous_?”  
  
  
The woman’s jaw dropped. “ _Parlez vous français_?”  
  
  
“Hey!” Princess’ head poked out of her car window. “I thought you spoke Spanish!”  
  
  
Mrs. Morbucks looked almost delighted in her shock. “Princess never took to French, and she’s got it in her blood.”  
  
  
Princess’ head disappeared back into the car.  
  
  
“¿ _También puedes hablar Español_?” Mrs. Morbucks pressed.  
  
  
“ _Ah, sí, p_ _or_ _… diez años, mas o menos_ ,” Bubbles said sheepishly. “ _Es uno de mis talentos especiales_.”  
  
  
“Can we _go_ now?!” Princess shrieked from the car.  
  
  
Her mother showed no sign of acquiescing to her daughter’s wishes. “¿ _Cuántas lenguas hablas_?”  
  
  
“ _Bueno, puedo hablar… Inglés, por supuesto, y Español, Francés, Japonés—_ ”  
  
  
“ _Eh_?! _Nihongo ga hanashimasu ka_?”  
  
  
There was a muffled scream from the limo.  
  
  
“ _Hai, s_ _hi_ _koshi hanashimasu_.” Bubbles nodded, beaming. It was a rare thing for her to feel intelligent, and she was basking in Mrs. Morbucks’ delighted reaction.  
  
  
The woman suddenly had a mischievous glint in her eye. “ _Ni hui bu hui shuo Zhongwen_?”  
  
  
Bubbles’ face fell, and she shook her head apologetically. “Chinese? I don’t speak that one.”  
  
  
Mrs. Morbucks settled back, impressed. “Still, three out of four, not including English—you are a very enterprising young lady.”  
  
  
“No, that’s definitely not me,” Bubbles laughed, shaking her head. “That sounds more like my sister—actually, _she_ speaks Chinese—”  
  
  
“She speaks Mandarin?”  
  
  
“Um, she’s fluent in Cantonese and teaching herself Mandarin now—”  
  
  
“Oh my God, you girls absolutely _must_ come over, I need to meet _all_ of you—”  
  
  
Princess poked an indignant head back out of the window and vehemently shook it. “You _can’t_ be serious, Mother! I don’t want—”  
  
  
“Princess, please, keep your voice down,” Mrs. Morbucks said sternly. “You’re throwing a party tomorrow night, right? Bubbles and her sisters are coming, I assume—”  
  
  
“ _Mother_! _No_!”  
  
  
“ _Princess_!” At the sharp bark of her mother’s voice, Princess shrank back into her seat and she glared at the floor, eyes shimmering with tears.  
  
  
Bubbles almost felt sorry for the girl as Mrs. Morbucks shook her hand one last time, imploring her and her sisters to drop by tomorrow. The glow of success didn’t set in until after the limo had turned out of the school lot, and Princess’ betrayed expression faded into the distance.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“I don’t believe it,” Blossom said, very clearly disbelieving it. The look on her face was priceless. “You got us invited?!”  
  
  
“Yay,” Buttercup said joylessly from her perch on the couch. She waved the remote around for emphasis as she flipped the channel.  
  
  
“I love how you say that like you totally didn’t expect me to succeed,” Bubbles reprimanded their leader, pretending to look hurt. “Doesn’t upset me at _all_.”  
  
  
As Blossom reddened and tried to placate Bubbles, Buttercup laid back on the couch, blindly punching in buttons on the remote, and groaned, “You know what I heard today? I hear there’s a boy list. Like, Hot Boy List. And _Boomer_ is at the top of it.” The last sentence came out in a tone that Buttercup reserved for cockroaches and villains who didn’t put up a good fight.  
  
  
Her sisters looked up. “There’s a list?” Blossom said dubiously, and furrowed her brow.  
  
  
“The list was updated?” Bubbles asked. “Shoot. I must’ve missed the memo.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Boomer grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter and poked Brick with it.  
  
  
“What exactly have you done today that warrants thanking?” Brick grumbled. “And cut that out. You’ll ruin it.” He took the knife away—the tip was already slightly bent—and chucked it back into the knife holder.  
  
  
“Hel- _lo_? It’s barely been a month and I’ve already gotten us all invitations to the richest chick’s party?”  
  
  
“Yay,” Butch said joylessly from his perch on the couch. He blinked. “Huh. Déjà vu.”  
  
  
Brick stared into the distance in mock awe. “Oh yes. A social event for stupid young people. I can’t wait to surround myself with the scintillating intellect I am bound to encounter.” He resumed poking around the kitchen for something to eat and settled on a box of cereal.  
  
  
“You’re welcome,” Boomer said proudly.  
  
  
“You know what I heard today?” Butch suddenly said, a dangerous tone in his voice. He glared at Boomer. “I hear there’s a list of boys. As in, Doable Boys. And _you_ —” he pointed at Boomer, “—are at the top of it.”  
  
  
“Stupid lists for stupid people,” Brick said through his mouthful of Cap’n Crunch.  
  
  
Boomer’s eyes widened. “The list was updated? Last I checked, this guy was at the top.” He indicated their leader, who barely batted an eye.  
  
  
“Am I even on this thing?” Butch cried, indignant.  
  
  
“You’re like, Number 15 or something,” Boomer said in a soothing voice. “I mean, that’s pretty respectable, right?”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
The following school day Princess was exceptionally frigid towards the girls, so much so that Buttercup had to put on a sweater during lunch. She spent the majority of the day trying to set them on fire with the power of her wealthy glares—clearly she regretted having outgrown the villainous supersuit days of her youth—every chance she happened across them.  
  
  
After checking in with her sisters at the end of the day—Bubbles and Buttercup both reported no funny business from any of the boys—Blossom let them hurry home to prep for the party while she darted off to the dance studio. All throughout the school year, the Dance Company took from the last bell until five in the afternoon to run drills, rehearse, and plan for upcoming events. Buttercup and Bubbles had to do the same thing for Athletics and Choir, but Choir hadn’t started after-school practices yet and Buttercup had Fridays off.  
  
  
Most of the dancers took off early on Friday anyway, particularly on game or party nights. Blossom wasn’t surprised to see only two girls in the studio when she poked her head in.  
  
  
She passed one of the Seniors on the way to the locker room and asked, “Everybody heading to Princess’ party, I take it?”  
  
  
“They’re already gone.” Cindy, one of the Senior Lieutenants, nodded in the affirmative. “You might as well take off too, Blossom. I heard she actually invited you for once.”  
  
  
“Not by choice,” a bitter voice snapped, cutting through the air, and Princess emerged from the locker room, her dance clothes stuffed into a posh leather bag. She had one good glare left in her, and shot it like a cannon at Blossom as she passed her. “Thank your sister for ruining my life.”  
  
  
An unimpressed Blossom sniffed and rolled her eyes. “Way to be mature about it, Princess.”  
  
  
“Please.” Princess’ voice echoed in the studio, followed by the reverberating clack of her heels. “You’re only jealous because _they’re_ stealing all the attention away from you. You just can’t stand being second to _anyone_.”  
  
  
“Like I have any reason to be jealous of a pack of second-rate teenage delinquents!” Blossom snapped, but Princess was already gone.  
  
  
She groaned and went to go change while the other girls bid their goodbyes, off to the party. Once again, it was Friday, and—funny how all her Fridays seemed to go like this—Blossom had the entire studio left to herself.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Buttercup was asleep on the couch when Blossom finally got home at a quarter to six. The redhead poked her head into the kitchen, smiled at their father, then went to shake Buttercup awake.  
  
  
“Hey! Aren’t you going to change?”  
  
  
“Change for what?” Buttercup groaned, shoving Blossom away and curling into the back of the couch.  
  
  
“The _party_!” Blossom lifted the couch and shook her sister off of it.  
  
  
Buttercup yelped as she crashed to the floor. “Excuse me! What the hell? I’ve been ready for the past _two hours_! Why are _you_ so late anyway?”  
  
  
“Lost track of the time,” Blossom mumbled as she reset the furniture. She figured ‘Subconscious avoidance of teenage social functions’ wouldn’t have been an acceptable answer. “But I showered at the school, so all I have to do is change.” She scrutinized her sister’s green and black striped hoodie and grubby jeans. “Is that really what you’re wearing?”  
  
  
Buttercup crossed her arms. “This is one of my special _hoodies_. And for the record, Bubbles has been upstairs ‘getting ready’ ever since we got home. Get her to haul some ass while you’re up there.”  
  
  
“Language,” Blossom said automatically, then dashed up the stairs to their room. She tossed her dance clothes in the hamper and started rummaging in her section of the closet, finally settling on a sensible—yet very chic—blouse and skirt. As she changed, Bubbles emerged from the bathroom, frantic.  
  
  
“Blossom! I need a hat!”  
  
  
“What?!” For all that her clothes took up half of their closet, one in the hall, and the dresser next to her bed, Bubbles was always, _always_ borrowing from Blossom. “Buttercup said you’ve been up here for like two hours!”  
  
  
“Where is your Fedora?” Bubbles mumbled, ignoring her sister. “Blossom! Where is your Fedora?”  
  
  
Blossom sighed and snatched the hat from the closet shelf, waving it at her sister as she walked into the room. “I only wear this for performances, you know—it’s not really a—”  
  
  
“Perfect!” Bubbles seized it and gingerly angled it on her head, tugging at the low, spiky pigtails she’d pulled her hair into.  
  
  
Blossom stared. “Is that what you’re wearing?”  
  
  
“Huh?” Bubbles said, distracted, and fumbled for a flower brooch on the vanity that she pinned to the hat.  
  
  
“That’s the tightest pair of jeans I’ve ever seen,” Blossom said disdainfully. “The Professor’s never going to let you—”  
  
  
“Oh, they’re not that bad,” Bubbles said, untroubled. She started to tug on some boots. “So are you going to change, or what?”  
  
  
Blossom blinked and looked down at her ensemble. “Change? I’ve already changed—well, I have a jacket that goes with the skirt—”  
  
  
Her sister stopped and gave her a long look, scrutinizing her outfit. The lighthearted smile disappeared from her face. “Blossom. Seriously. Dress like a…” Bubbles searched for the word. “… Person.”  
  
  
“People dress like this!” Blossom cried.  
  
  
“People in their _forties_ ,” Bubbles scoffed, and strode over, reaching to undo the buttons of her sister’s shirt.  
  
  
“ _Hey_!”  
  
  
“Look, Blossom, this is fine for a press conference or a news interview, but you’ve gotta dress like a _teenager_ —”  
  
  
“ _Excuse me_?!”  
  
  
Bubbles stopped trying to undress her and crossed her arms. “Think about the kind of look you’d like to see on Princess’ face when you set foot in her house.”  
  
  
The look of consideration on Blossom’s face said it all. After some protracted rummaging and vehement rejections from Blossom (“A _miniskirt_ in _January_?!”), Bubbles got her into a white sweater dress and black tights.  
  
  
“It’s getting pretty chilly outside, you know,” Blossom pointed out.  
  
  
“You have, like, eleventy billion jackets,” Bubbles countered.  
  
  
“What the _hell_ is keeping you guys?!” Buttercup bellowed, kicking open the door. “It’s _6:15_! Blossom, I thought all you had to do was change!”  
  
  
Blossom looked panicked. “6:15? The party started at 6:00!”  
  
  
“Oh, please,” Bubbles scoffed. “You’re not _supposed_ to show up to a party on time. Buttercup, braid Blossom’s hair for me?”  
  
  
“ _Don’t you touch my hair_ ,” Blossom snapped, venomous.  
  
  
“I wasn’t going to, but then you said not to, and now I have to,” Buttercup said dryly, and started to undo Blossom’s ubiquitous hair bow.  
  
  
“Blossom, they’re just braids,” Bubbles said in a placating voice, and dug around for a pair of shoes. “Come on, Buttercup—the sooner you do them, the sooner we can get out the door.”  
  
  
“Are you girls _ready_ yet?” the Professor called from downstairs. “I’ve been at the door for the past twenty minutes!” He jangled his keys for emphasis.  
  
  
“In a minute!” they all called back simultaneously.  
  
  
Blossom flinched and swatted at Buttercup. “You’re doing them all wrong, they’re too messy—”  
  
  
“Messy looks better,” Bubbles said, handing Blossom a pair of heels. “That’s why I asked her to do them for you. Yours always come out too neat.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Buttercup added, rubber banding the end of one and starting on the other. “ _Your_ braids wind up making you look like a tall, busty five year old.”  
  
  
“ _Have you no manners_?!” Blossom cried as Bubbles looped a belt around her waist.  
  
  
“Done,” Bubbles sighed, pleased.  
  
  
“Done,” Buttercup sighed, exasperated. Blossom examined the untidy plaits and the off the shoulder neck of the sweater. She frowned.  
  
  
“Oh, it’s just for one night,” Bubbles chirped, seeming to read her mind.  
  
  
“You forget we’re only going because we’ve a job to do,” Blossom reminded her.  
  
  
“Well, yeah,” Bubbles conceded as Buttercup dragged her out the door. “But making a good impression always counts for something, doesn’t it?”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Brick came out of his room and paused, eyeing the clock. “6:15. Was there something going on tonight?”  
  
  
“Huh?” Butch said distractedly, eyes glued to the television as he played GTA.  
  
  
Boomer entered the living room, his acoustic slung over his back, and paused. “… Are you guys going to get ready or not?”  
  
  
Butch paused his game. “Oh yeah. There’s that party.” He shut off his game and stood up. “Ready.”  
  
  
Brick disappeared into his room and re-emerged with a jacket. “Alright. Let’s go.”  
  
  
Boomer scoffed as they exited the apartment. “You guys take forever, I fucking swear to God.”

.~.

“This entire line of cars can _not_ possibly all be going to Princess’ party,” Buttercup said in disbelief as the Professor honked his horn. She craned her neck, trying to get a better vantage point from the front passenger seat. “I told you we should’ve just flown.”  
  
  
“I wish I’d listened to you,” Blossom said in a defeated voice.  
  
  
“I wish you’d listened to her too,” the Professor groaned, then squinted in his rearview. “Hey!” He stuck his head out of the window and shook his fist at the car behind him. “Kill your brights! Are you trying to blind me?!”  
  
  
“We couldn’t fly!” Bubbles said, grabbing on to Blossom’s Fedora for emphasis. “It’d mess up my entire outfit!”  
  
  
“ _That_ ,” Buttercup said loudly, “is why I only wear _jeans_ to _everything_!”  
  
  
“I am wearing jeans,” Bubbles mumbled under her breath.  
  
  
“ _I said turn down your brights_!” the Professor screamed.  
  
  
“Where’s my purse?” Bubbles suddenly cried. “Did I leave it at home?!”  
  
  
Blossom turned and fumbled around for it in the trunk. “You tossed it in the back, remember?”  
  
  
The car behind them honked, and the Professor and Buttercup yelled, “ _Nobody’s going anywhere_! Why are you _honking_?!”  
  
  
Bubbles shifted uncomfortably, and Blossom gave her a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”  
  
  
“Nothing,” Bubbles said automatically, and fidgeted. “Just… I’ve been sitting in these jeans for a long time, and they’re kinda tight—”  
  
  
“I _told_ you to change,” Blossom said under her breath, eyes on the Professor in case he heard. He was too distracted screaming his head off at the idiot behind him.  
  
  
“That jerk still hasn’t turned off his brights!” he shouted as the guy behind him honked yet again.  
  
  
“Okay. You know what?” Buttercup undid her seat belt and threw herself out of the car. “This is _ridiculous_!” A new round of honking started, and Buttercup stalked to the car behind them, kicking out both headlights. “ _Your brights_ , asshole! Are you _deaf_?! We only asked you, like, _five times_!”  
  
  
She punched the hood for emphasis, denting the metal, then turned, grabbed the station wagon, and took off, soaring to the front of the line and dropping them on Princess’ majestic doorstep. She opened the back door for her sisters, who were staring at her.  
  


  
“Are you coming or what?” she snapped.  
  
  
“Road rage much?” Bubbles muttered, and Blossom elbowed her. They both got out of the car.  
  
  
The Professor was clutching the wheel, and said in a strangled voice, “Thank you, Buttercup.”  
  
  
She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it.”  
  
  
As the Professor drove off, the girls turned and looked at the grand doors, flanked on either side by two fierce looking guards. Various clusters of students were arriving, flashing their invitations to the men at the doors and gaining entry.  
  
  
Blossom looked at Bubbles. “Did Mrs. Morbucks give you any actual invitations?”  
  
  
Bubbles looked a little uneasy. “No… she just said to show up…”  
  
  
“You guys are acting like a couple of security guards and a giant wooden door would actually be able to _stop_ us,” Buttercup said disgustedly, and strode up to the entrance.  
  
  
At the sight of her, however, both guards nodded and opened the doors for her to pass. Taken aback at the lack of necessary violence, Buttercup paused and threw a look over her shoulder to her sisters.  
  
  
Bubbles shrugged and tugged Blossom to the entrance, beaming at the men as they passed. A man was in the foyer to take their coats, and directed them down the hall past the grand staircase, where distinct party noises were audible.  
  
  
“I forgot how big this place was,” Blossom muttered as they made their way down the hall. “Since Princess outgrew the whole ‘trying to destroy us’ phase, we haven’t been here in something like seven years.”  
  
  
“Wouldn’t have minded it being longer,” Buttercup muttered back, and suddenly they were upon a huge room teeming with people.  
  
  
“Has this place gotten _bigger_?” Buttercup said incredulously, taking a few steps forward and tipping her head back to try and see how far up the ceiling went.  
  
  
Bubbles was remarkably excited for having stepped into a former enemy’s abode. “I wonder if Will is here yet? He said he’d be here around 7:00…”  
  
  
“I wonder if the boys are here yet,” Blossom said, fervently scanning the room. “We should each take one, and keep an eye on—”  
  
  
Bubbles suddenly pulled their leader aside and said in a hushed, conspiratorial voice, “Don’t give Buttercup Boomer.”  
  
  
Blossom furrowed her brow and darted a look at their sister, who was squinting at the gigantic chandelier that swung from the ceiling. “What? Why?”  
  
  
“Because she’s been really sensitive about this whole… him replacing her in the band thing,” Bubbles said quietly. “I don’t think she’d be able to keep her temper if she had to babysit him the entire evening. You should give her guard duty over Butch or Brick instead.”  
  
  
Blossom shook her head. “Not Brick. _I’ll_ keep an eye on that one. He’s too…” She shuddered. “Too unsettling. It’s like I can see him… _scheming_ every time I bump into him. So she’ll take Butch, and you take Boomer.”  
  
  
“Where are you taking me, exactly?”  
  
  
The two girls jumped and turned, horrified to find the boys standing at the doorway. Boomer had a curious expression on his face. Butch’s attention was arrested by Blossom’s bare shoulders. Brick, the boy with the Permanent Glare, glared at the both of them.  
  
  
“Could you take _me_ somewhere?” Butch said distractedly, a little glazed.  
  
  
“Are you joking?” Buttercup was suddenly at Blossom’s other shoulder, glowering at Boomer. He smiled beatifically at her. “You brought your guitar? How egotistical are you?”  
  
  
Before he could answer, Princess bounded up, all smiles at the boys. “Oh my God, you guys are here! And you brought your guitar!” She looped an arm in Boomer’s and started tugging him toward the center of the mess of people. “Come on, let me give you a tour.” With a look of revulsion in the girls’ direction, she added, “Would you three mingle, or something? Don’t even think about following us.” She went back to beaming at the boys. “Sorry about the company tonight, but I had no choice in the matter.”  
  
  
“No worries,” Boomer said good-naturedly, and looked back at his brothers. “You guys coming?”  
  
  
Brick narrowed his eyes at Blossom, and she tensed.  
  
  
“Braids?” he said scornfully, and took after Boomer. “What are you, five?”  
  
  
Blossom bristled, and Bubbles said petulantly, “I think they’re cute.”  
  
  
Brick scoffed and called back, “Says the girl who _painted_ her jeans on tonight. Good to see you putting your artistic skills to use!”  
  
  
“Can I lick you?” Butch suddenly asked, very fixated on Blossom’s collarbone, and her jaw dropped in disgust.  
  
  
“That depends,” Buttercup interjected, stepping in front of her sister. “You wanna keep your testicles or not?”  
  
  
He blinked in disappointment at having his view of Blossom blocked, but sneered at her over Buttercup’s head. “Small price to pay for a taste of _you_.”  
  
  
“Trust me,” Blossom said spitefully, “I’d make sure you’d miss them.”  
  
  
He laughed as he passed them. “I love you too, beautiful!”  
  
  
“Pig,” Blossom spat.  
  
  
It took awhile to get Buttercup out of Kill Mode, and even longer to get Bubbles to stop pouting about Brick’s braids comment, but eventually the girls dispersed into the crowd, eyes on the other end of the room where Princess had disappeared with the boys.  
  
  
As she watched Bubbles and Buttercup get absorbed into the party crowd, Blossom suddenly felt—though let it be taken into account she never let it show—awkward and a little fearful. For a girl who made an effort to always appear flawless and confident, neither awkwardness nor fear were high on her list of emotable emotions. She wasn’t big on parties, especially not the grandiose sort Princess was notorious for throwing. While the amount of people was roughly the same, this was different from a game, or a pep rally—at those, Blossom was usually huddled with the rest of the dance team, waiting to perform. And when it came to crowds themselves, her only regular interaction with them was from a podium, addressing them. Now that she was in the thick of it, she found herself completely out of her element.  
  
  
Thank God she’d let Bubbles dress her, at least. Had she gone with her original outfit, she would’ve been mistaken for a chaperone. All the same, she felt a lot of eyes on her, which wasn’t doing much to quell that awkward fear thing—granted, she never came to these things, so maybe they were just surprised to see her? At least some people were being friendly and waving hello—  
  
  
“Off the shoulder, huh? Very risqué.” A soft, feminine voice sounded from just over her shoulder, and Blossom gasped, whirling around to come face to face with Robin.  
  
  
“Oh thank God, a face I know,” Blossom said in one hasty breath, and immediately latched on to her friend’s arm.  
  
  
“You really don’t do this party thing often, do you?” Robin observed, her tone friendly.  
  
  
“Just keep me company until Brick shows up again,” Blossom responded, and Robin raised an eyebrow.  
  
  
“Tell me you’re joking.”  
  
  
“Huh?” At the look on Robin’s face, a scandalized Blossom said in frantic undertones, “ _No_! I don’t mean we’re here _together_ , I mean I’m trying to keep an eye on him!”  
  
  
Robin laughed. “Take a number. Didn’t you see the heads that turned when the boys got here?”  
  
  
“I’m more concerned about the heads that are gonna roll when the boys decide to stop playing nice,” Blossom grumbled. A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she looked at Robin. “Why did Princess invite _you_?”  
  
  
Instead of taking offense, Robin shrugged. “She’s always invited me.”  
  
  
“How come you never said?!” Blossom exclaimed, a little miffed.  
  
  
“I’ve never come; I’m only here tonight because I heard you girls were coming,” Robin comforted, smiling. “Actually, Princess invites the entire student body every time she throws one of these things, except for you three. She’s very mature about this stuff.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Princess hadn't been kidding about taking the boys on a tour of the house. She escorted them through every nook and cranny of each wing, taking protracted pauses to flutter her eyes and purse her lips. She was far from plain looking, but Brick had a thing about redheads. Speaking from personal knowledge, they were often way more trouble than they were worth.  
  
  
There were several areas clearly designated for partygoers—batting cages outside, a garden maze in the back, a cinema downstairs in the east wing, a dance floor in the basement of the west, and the huge main kitchen leading from the grand hall, where most of the socializing was taking place. It was by the main kitchen where Brick gruffly excused himself and stole away before Princess could protest.  
  
  
There were stacks of pizza boxes flanked by coolers of soda on one of the kitchen counters, and he snatched one of each. Socializing wasn't high on his list of priorities tonight; he'd much rather find a semi-secluded spot where he could people watch in peace.  
  
  
He was preparing to take a bite of his pizza when—  
  
  
“About time you showed up again,” an accusatory voice sounded behind him, and he made an effort to suppress the annoyance that suddenly flared up in his chest.  
  
  
He slowly swiveled his head, locking eyes with Blossom. “You again. What a surprise.” He dropped his pizza into the garbage.  
  
  
“Not hungry?”  
  
  
“Lost my appetite, wouldn't you know it,” he muttered, leaning against the counter and cradling his soda in one hand.  
  
  
They stood still for a moment, appraising each other. Blossom finally shifted—she looked awkward in those clothes, like they didn't belong on her and she didn't belong here. He made a point of telling her so.  
  
  
“Uncomfortable, aren't you.”  
  
  
She made a face, instantly going on the defensive. “It's got nothing to do with you.”  
  
  
“Didn't say so, did I? You belong somewhere else.”  
  
  
There was the tiniest bit of threat in his voice, and she picked up on it. She narrowed her eyes. “So says the pot to the kettle.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Blossom was feeling very irritated with herself for allowing her discomfort to show, so much so that Brick had noticed. Weakness in the face of the enemy was unacceptable. She should've taken a moment to compose herself in front of a mirror or something. _Too late now_ , she thought remorsefully as she watched Brick shift, allowing a group of kids access to the pizza. She squared her jaw and did her best to look haughty and condescending, ignoring the breeze on her shoulders and the braids in her hair.  
  
  
“What do you have your brothers up to?” she prodded, and Brick's gaze darkened.  
  
  
“I don't know,” he said slowly, and leant in. “Why don't you ask your sisters? Since babysitting them is _their_ top priority, not mine.”  
  
  
The kitchen was clearing considerably now—the atmosphere in there was a serious buzzkill. Plus, with Blossom in the room, nobody dared dig through the fridge, where all the beer was stashed.  
  
  
Brick indicated the space between them. “Is this how you plan on enjoying yourself tonight? Scrutinizing my every move?”  
  
  
Blossom could feel his glare intensify, burning the dust mites in the air. Her own eyes were steady as she met it. “Evil doesn't sleep, and neither do I.”  
  
  
He groaned. “You come up with that on your own? They should give you an Emmy for that one,” he said brusquely, and started for the back door.  
  
  
Both their attentions, however, were suddenly arrested by an explosion of noise from the grand hall, and Brick instantly changed direction, making a beeline for the door that would take them to the main room with Blossom hot on his heels.  
  
  
“What's your hurry?” she snapped at him as they strode down the short hall, wondering what nefarious plan of his had backfired.  
  
  
He ignored her and merely quickened his pace as the room opened up before them.  
  
  
The crowd had exploded into a cacophony of jeering laughter, shortly followed by wild applause. Above it all, Boomer’s voice suddenly rang out, “ _Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated_ —”  
  
  
Brick halted so abruptly Blossom nearly toppled over trying to keep from running into him. The two of them gaped. Boomer was surrounded by a throng of people singing along with him as he belted out Complicated at the top of his lungs, strumming his guitar.  
  
  
“I can’t believe how many of you fuckers actually know all the words to this song!” he shouted, grinning madly as the crowd laughed and cheered in response. “ _You come over unannounced_ …”  
  
  
“I will never be able to unsee this,” Brick said in horror, then turned and headed back for the kitchen. Blossom was too stunned to register him leaving. She did, however, recover in time to see Bubbles amidst the crowd of people, overcome with their infectious hilarity as she sang along.  
  
  
Mortified, Blossom muscled over to where her sister bounced, in the middle of the line, “ _Honesty_ promise me I’m never gonna find you fake it—”  
  
  
“Bubbles!” Blossom shrieked, but her voice was drowned out in the chorus. Bubbles saw her and grabbed her arm, trying to get her to bounce with her.  
  
  
“ _Bubbles_!” Blossom shouted again, trying vainly to remain firmly planted to the ground. “There’s such a thing as dignity, you know!”  
  
  
“But this is so _fun_!” her sister giggled, taking a deep breath to launch into another verse.  
  
  
“ _You’re not supposed to be having fun_! You have a job to do!”  
  
  
Bubbles looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “This is a _party_! Of _course_ we’re supposed to have fun!”  
  
  
Blossom groaned and gave up, shouldering her way back through the singing mob as Bubbles re-joined the chorus. It occurred to her she’d lost Brick, and she threw one last dirty look at the center of attention for distracting her as he finished the song to a wave of cheering and bellowed, “ _Now how many of you know ‘So Yesterday_?!’”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Brick stumbled into the basement of the west wing and paused for breath, grateful that the pounding bass here drowned out the musical atrocity his brother was responsible for starting. He descended the stairs, first taking note of the dance floor setup—that explained the bass—and then his other sibling, wrapped in a mess of dark hair and long legs against the far wall. Butch looked a little… preoccupied, so Brick rounded the base of the staircase and perched himself on the arm of a sofa. His presence unsettled the couple that was seated, who hastily got up and moved into the shadows.  
  
  
“Perfect,” he muttered in a pleased tone to himself, and flopped down on the cushions. Within seconds there was a figure at his side and a manicured fingernail on his cheek.  
  
  
He closed his eyes and suppressed a groan as a voice attempting sultry purred, “Would you like to dance?”  
  
  
“Can you tell me what contra body movement is?” he said evenly, not budging.  
  
  
The fingers spread into a warm, open palm on his chest. “Are you coming on to me?”  
  
  
“No,” he said resolutely, and waved the girl away. “Why don’t you Google it and then come find me.”  
  
  
She hovered for a second, perplexed, then uncomfortably sidled away. Brick noted a cluster of girls eyeing him from another corner—this was going to go on all night if he didn’t do something about it. He lifted his head, enough for the pulsing lights to catch his eyes at just the right moment, and they flashed a grim, chilling red. The buzz of chatter in the room died almost instantly, and, after sharing a collective shudder, everyone who’d been looking averted their gaze.  
  
  
‘Much better,’ he thought to himself, and settled back to enjoy his drink.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Blossom circled the first floor twice before wandering outside. She heard a sudden _crack_ , followed by whoops and hollers, and went to go investigate.  
  
  
Princess’ Manor had a batting cage. And there was Buttercup, rolling her shoulders back and swinging a bat back and forth, ready for another ball. Blossom stared.  
  
  
“Buttercup?!” she cried, just as her sister swung and _thwacked_ the ball into the air.  
  
  
“What’s up, Blossom?” she said in a surprisingly upbeat voice, and a couple of the folks behind her shouted their greetings.  
  
  
Blossom scanned the group of athletes, then turned back to Buttercup, livid. “ _Where’s Butch_?!”  
  
  
“Search me.” The dark-haired girl swung again, sending another ball soaring.  
  
  
“Are—are you _kidding_ me?!” Blossom shrieked. “At least Bubbles was in the same _room_ as her charge!”  
  
  
“Look, if he’d wanted to do something, he’d have done it by now,” Buttercup said in a rare show of intelligent deduction, and spat at the ground. “I’ve had a long few weeks. I deserve to wind down a _little_!” She swung this one exceptionally hard, and there sailed another ball, threatening to burst through the net as it connected. “Alright, guys. Someone else take a turn? I’m going to go check out the movie theater.” Buttercup gave Blossom a pointed look. “Did you know she had a movie theater?”  
  
  
The strangled noise of frustration Blossom made just before tearing off back into the house only proved one thing to Buttercup. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “That girl needs to chill the fuck out.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Something kicked Brick’s leg, and he glared up at a grinning Butch.  
  
  
“What the fuck are you doing, sitting?” Butch laughed. The collar of his shirt was sticking out at odd angles and his mouth looked a little bruised.  
  
  
Brick shrugged and sipped at his drink. “Enjoying myself.”  
  
  
“That’s pathetic.” Butch flopped down next to him on the couch and, after a moment’s consideration, added, “Though probably preferable, considering all the attention I’m getting.”  
  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
  
“It means I’m glad you’re being an antisocial fuck, for once,” Butch said with a grin, his attention suddenly on the girl he’d been cozy with at the wall. The couch bounced as she sat in his lap, and she giggled. Brick ignored them and drank his soda.  
  
  
The girl was succeeding in tugging Butch up for a dance, and as he rose he looked at Brick and muttered, “Do me a favor and stay on the couch, huh?”  
  
  
“Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Brick said, a paragon of innocence.  
  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Butch laughed, and joined his partner on the dance floor.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
With a defeated sigh, Blossom sank onto an empty chaise lounge in the hall. She’d circled the house what felt like a dozen times to no avail. Her superhearing was being clouded by all the party noise—the chatter, the music. And her sisters had totally forgone their duties. Didn’t they care? Didn’t they realize how important it was to protect this city? With all the diminishing monster attacks over the past few years, they must’ve gotten sloppy—Blossom had too. If only she hadn’t let her guard down, if only she’d forced them to train every day so they’d always be on the lookout, always be at the ready for when an emergency arose…  
  
  
She groaned and rested her elbows on her knees, cradling her head in her hands. She felt like such a failure. And being surrounded by an enormous mass of blissfully unconcerned teenagers was not helping.  
  
  
“Blossom?” a gentle, familiar voice said, and Blossom lifted her head to find Robin standing over her. “Is everything okay?”  
  
  
“Hi Robin,” Blossom said colorlessly as her friend took a seat.  
  
  
Robin threw a comforting arm over Blossom's shoulder. “Oh, come on, Blossom. The party's not _that_ bad.”  
  
  
Blossom scoffed. “Yeah. My sisters are well aware. They're not even—it's like they don't even care that there are three boys capable of unfathomable destruction, walking in their midst. Freely. They're more interested in... in...”  
  
  
After a pause, Robin ventured, “In being teenagers?”  
  
  
Blossom gave her a look. “Except we can't just be teenagers! We're... responsible for everyone here, for their safety, Robin!”  
  
  
“But you can't be 'on' all the time,” Robin countered. “You guys need to, you know, loosen up and have some fun once in awhile!”  
  
  
“My sisters have enough fun as it is,” Blossom muttered.  
  
  
“They certainly have an easier time of it than you do. You're way too...” Robin struggled for the right words. “You're very... _mature_ for someone your age.”  
  
  
“Somehow you managed to make that not sound like a compliment,” Blossom grumbled, her brow furrowed.  
  
  
“Look, have the boys done anything yet?”  
  
  
Blossom hated this question. It avoided the issue. “No. But the point isn't whether they've done anything. The point is what they're _capable_ of.”  
  
  
Robin sighed and patted the redhead's arm. “Blossom, you can't be the... proverbial flu shot for every, you know... strain of flu. Sometimes you have to wait for the symptoms to show before you can treat it.”  
  
  
Blossom gave her a look. “I don't like that metaphor.”  
  
  
“English isn't my strong point. The point is you need to stop worrying and start enjoying yourself. Can you do that? Like, for me? As a friend?”  
  
  
Blossom showed her just how big a fan she was of the idea by groaning and hanging her head.  
  
  
“Look, come on,” Robin urged, taking Blossom by the arm and dragging her up. “Come dance with me and some of the other girls.”  
  
  
“Oh, Robin, I don’t really think—”  
  
  
“Come _on_ , Leader Girl,” Robin pressed, surprisingly resilient as she turned a corner and descended a dark staircase with Blossom in tow. “Act your age for once, and stop being so God damn responsible!”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“Contra body movement: right foot and left shoulder forward, and vice versa.”  
  
  
Brick looked up at the girl, who smirked as she continued, “We do it all the time when walking. We just don’t think of it in ballroom dance terms.”  
  
  
She had the build of a dancer—she even moved like one; he could see it in her swishy little movements when she sat next to him. He let her. “So,” she continued, “how would _you_ know what CBM is?”  
  
  
“I’m kind of an expert,” he shrugged, keeping his face neutral.  
  
  
“On dancing?” she said incredulously, laughing. She had a sweet voice, and her pretty face was framed by pretty auburn hair, and man, talk about a pair of legs you could see for miles.  
  
  
He turned to her and smirked, letting his voice get husky and low. “At everything.”  
  
  
He could practically hear her blushing. “Um, I’m Cindy.”  
  
  
“Hi Cindy,” Brick said softly, bumping his knee into hers. “So how do _you_ know what CBM is?”  
  
  
“Well, I’ve only been dancing for, like, twelve years,” Cindy laughed. “I’m the Senior Lieutenant of Townsville High’s Dance Company.”  
  
  
“An officer, huh,” he mused. “And an older woman, albeit one who’s been eavesdropping.”  
  
  
“Hello, I was only standing, like, right next to her. Why’d you turn her down, anyway?”  
  
  
“Because I’ve got standards.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Particularly when it involves me being the center of attention.”  
  
  
The look on that pretty face was incredulous. “You? Like being the center of attention?”  
  
  
He smirked at her. “Don’t believe me?”  
  
  
Cindy stared at him a moment, a smile slowly spreading on her face. She stood and extended a hand to him, eyes glittering in the direction of the dance floor as a particularly fast, upbeat song started up. “Show me.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Sara—or maybe it was Tara? Fuck, like anyone expected Butch to bother with details like that. Whoever it was, he was about a minute away from turning their dance into the horizontal variety. So he was really confused when her attention was suddenly seized by something over his shoulder—frankly, it was kind of insulting, considering the work his mouth was doing on her neck.  
  
  
“Oh my God,” she gasped, except it wasn’t the Oh my God Ecstasy gasp, it was the Oh my God Look at That gasp, and Butch pulled back to see her eyes on something behind him.  
  
  
“What?” he queried, a little impatiently, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red.  
  
  
‘Oh, _hell_ ,’ he thought frantically, and turned to see Brick in the center of the floor, pulling his partner out of a twirl and twisting around her as he did so. The circle of onlookers was already forming, and What’s-Her-Name was tugging Butch along so she could get a better look.  
  
  
Butch grit his teeth and glared at his brother. That fucking _fuck_. Hadn’t he asked him to stay on the fucking couch?  
  
  
“Goddammit, Brick.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
“That bass is really loud,” Blossom observed with a frown as she and Robin drifted down the staircase.  
  
  
Robin paused. “Nobody’s moving. What’s—”  
  
  
The two of them stopped, catching sight of what was holding everyone’s attention.  
  
  
Blossom goggled. “Wha—how does he—”  
  
  
“He _dances_?!” Robin articulated their thoughts quite succinctly, though it made the image before them no easier to accept as reality.  
  
  
Blossom took a few steps forward, eyes wide. Cindy was with him—she knew ballroom, both she and Blossom had competed before—but with their high level of experience, the girls often wound up having to intentionally backlead their partners when it came to non-competitive dancing (not that Blossom did a lot of that anyway, but that was beside the point). Here, though, Cindy was nothing but follow. Brick was leading her into her moves— _leading_ , like… like he’d had _training. Professional_ training.  
  
  
The idea of Brick knowing anything about partner dance technique was like trying to fit a triangular block into a circle-shaped hole in Blossom’s head. She felt the beginnings of a migraine coming on.  
  
  
“Closed position,” Blossom whispered, dumbfounded. “He’s got her in proper closed position.”  
  
  
“What?” Robin asked.  
  
  
“Now he’s swinging her into promenade position,” Blossom went on. “That’s Latin hip motion, that’s same side leading… he’s matching her footwork—no, _she’s_ matching _his_ —”  
  
  
Robin made an exasperated noise. “What’s that supposed to _mean_?!”  
  
  
“He doesn’t just know how to dance. Those are proper dance steps done in partner dancing. Cindy’s… she’s not having to pick up any slack, he’s moving exactly where he wants her to go and they’re not missing a _single step_!” Blossom cried, racking her brain furiously for a rational explanation and coming up empty. “How does he know this?! How can he _possibly_ know this?!”  
  
  
In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Brick was actually kinda sorta grinning, if you squinted. But Blossom, having superhero quality eyes, could see that his small smile was really a smirk, that his eyes weren’t bright and happy but sinister, and he kept his eyes on the audience as much as he kept them on Cindy, gauging their reaction and reveling in their attention. He wasn’t just putting on a show, he was _manipulating_ them into liking him.  
  
  
“Jesus Christ, I hope that boy has a dance card,” Robin said, looking around urgently. “I need to get my name on that thing _immediately_.”  
  
  
Blossom watched as Brick yanked Cindy up close, then, just as abruptly, bumped his hips into hers with such force that she lost her balance and fell back. He leant and caught her, swinging her up and around—she was delighted, she had no idea she was consorting with _evil incarnate_ —  
  
  
Blossom huffed some stray hairs out of her face, and Brick must’ve picked up on the angry little sound. That, or the dirty look she was throwing him sent a chill through the unfortunate people in her path, and their collective shiver drew his attention. In any case, he happened to look up at that very moment, the smile—correction, smirk—dissolving from his face as he caught sight of her. His gaze iced over, and many of the party guests shuddered again.  
  
  
He turned just as abruptly away, apparently determined not to let such a thing as the Force of Good kill his mood, except then a distant, familiar sound caught his and Blossom’s attention. She immediately took flight and zipped over the crowd.  
  
  
The sound of police sirens was more distinct now, and everybody was looking around uncertainly, save for three people. Brick’s eyes instantly sought out Butch, who came running up just as Blossom managed to clear a space to land.  
  
  
“What did you do?” she demanded, but Brick was turned away from her, preoccupied.  
  
  
“What did you _do_?” he hissed at Butch, urging Cindy into the crowd.  
  
  
“Nothing!” Butch cried, though a part of him sounded like he was disappointed he hadn’t. “… At least, I don’t remember doing anything. I think.”  
  
  
“That’s not exactly a ‘No,’” Brick muttered, but his eyes were back on the door, and before Blossom could demand an answer to her question he’d said something like, “ _Boomer_ ,” under his breath and taken off up the stairs in a streak of red. Blossom had no choice but to follow him, and Butch was right behind her. Though he made sure to keep a safe distance, so he could admire her properly.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Like his dark-haired brother, Boomer seemed to sense Brick’s question through the very power of his gaze, and hastily cried, “It wasn’t me!” before his brothers and Blossom could land amidst the equally confused upstairs party guests. “I’ve been playing music this whole time! Ask anybody!”  
  
  
“Music?” Brick said, wrinkling his face in disgust. “How does what I heard you playing earlier qualify as music in any sense?”  
  
  
“This is a remarkably elaborate game of playing dumb,” Blossom said in a heated voice, and Brick whirled on her, ready to punch some holes in her theory, or possibly just her, when a disheveled Bubbles came running up.  
  
  
“What have you done?” she cried, apparently aiming her question at the boys, but appearing way too concerned with fixing the misaligned buttons on her blouse.  
  
  
“It wasn’t me!” Boomer cried again. “I’ve been playing music this whole time!”  
  
  
“Nothing!” Butch said fervently. “I only smoked, like, one! Maybe two under protest!”  
  
  
Momentarily distracted, Blossom scrutinized her sister. “Why is your lipstick smudged?”  
  
  
“I’m a messy drinker,” Bubbles immediately said, wiping at her mouth. “Also, since you asked, I haven’t seen Will for, like, an hour. Hand to God.”  
  
  
“Alright, I’m here,” Buttercup said, emerging like an unconcerned teenager from the mist. “Where’s the fire?”  
  
  
“Right here.” Blossom felt a touch on her arm and a sizzling sound. She punched Butch in the stomach.  
  
  
“Stop bluffing,” she seethed, gaze refocusing on Brick as Butch gasped for breath. “Now tell me what you're up to.”  
  
  
Brick looked livid, and a growl started in his throat that instantly subsided at the sound of Princess' hysterical voice.  
  
  
“What are you _doing_?! You can't arrest him! Don't you have any idea who he _is_?!”  
  
  
Their view was blocked by a massive crowd around the front door, and Buttercup took off to get a closer look. In seconds she returned, trying to keep the shocked glee from her face and failing in every respect. “They're arresting Princess' _dad_!”  
  
  
The sharp clack of high heels echoed in the foyer above the buzz of whispers, and Princess' voice screamed, “Mother! Do something!”  
  
  
Mrs. Morbucks merely sighed, and then her voice rang out across the room. “I'm afraid the party's over, all. Apologies for the scene. Please leave, if you would, and drive safe.”  
  
  
“Mother! Where are you going?! We have to—”  
  
  
A door slammed, and Princess' voice was muffled as she continued to shriek her throat out at her mother.  
  
  
Brick turned a grim eye on Blossom. “Happy now?”  
  
  
“That doesn't absolve you of guilty action,” Blossom responded icily.  
  
  
With a disgusted groan, Brick turned to his brothers. “I've had enough of this. Let's go.”  
  
  
“Can I take her home with me?” Butch asked, dodging Blossom's next blow. Buttercup took a turn and decked him in the head.  
  
  
“Why?” Brick glanced back, his eyes narrowed. “Were they planning on following us?”  
  
  
“Don't hold your breath,” Buttercup snapped, before Blossom could suggest just that. “And take your garbage with you.”  
  
  
Boomer waved at Butch. “Come on, Garbage. Let's motor.”  
  
  
The second Butch was in the air Brick took off, his red streak already fading as his brothers followed suit.  
  
  
Blossom sighed, oddly relieved. Then her gaze hardened and she whirled on her sisters.  
  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles exchanged glances, then angled their heads together.  
  
  
“That's her pissed off face,” Buttercup observed in a conspiratorial tone.  
  
  
“I was gonna say she looked disappointed, but I think pissed off describes it better,” Bubbles agreed.  
  
  
“I cannot _believe_ you two,” Blossom said reproachfully.  
  
  
“Blossom, seriously. They didn't even do anything.” Buttercup shrugged and made her way to the front door, talking over her shoulder. “And even if they had, we were right here.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Bubbles joined in as she took Blossom by the arm and guided her to the exit. “You worry too much.”  
  
  
“And you two don't do enough of it,” Blossom reprimanded as they stepped out into the chilly air with another cluster of teenagers. She took a deep breath, preparing to launch into one of her long-winded lectures.  
  
  
Her sisters recognized that inhale. Bubbles immediately took action. “Do you hear that?” she said abruptly, tilting her head. The sound of screeching tires and frenetic horn-honking was steadfastly approaching, and in a matter of seconds the Professor's station wagon was braking to a hard stop in the grass, digging deep ruts into the lawn.  
  
  
Their father jumped out, headlights still beaming, and dashed up to the girls. “ _Girls_! I heard sirens! I saw cops here on the news! Are you—”  
  
  
“We're fine, Professor,” the girls answered in one bored voice. Facing giant monsters? Big deal. Mojo Jojo destroying Townsville? Old hat. But man, put cops and teenagers within a mile of each other and he was tearing down doors in a frantic bid to ensure his girls were safe, when they'd been in the living room the entire time. He had a habit of overreacting.  
  
  
“Thank God,” he gasped, clutching his chest. His face hardened. “Was it—”  
  
  
“Not the boys,” Buttercup and Bubbles interrupted. Blossom mumbled something similar, a petulant look on her face. “They arrested Mr. Morbucks for something,” Bubbles filled him in.  
  
  
“Hey,” Buttercup said, eyeing the keys in his hand. “You said one of us could drive home tonight—”  
  
  
The Professor froze as Buttercup and Bubbles suddenly adopted excited puppy expressions, clutching his keys like a lifeline. “Oh... right,” he laughed nervously. “Um...” He reached a hand toward Buttercup, then paused. He drifted uneasily over to Bubbles, and pulled his hand back again.  
  
  
Blossom sighed and extended her mitt. The Professor gratefully dropped the ring of keys into her hand, and Buttercup and Bubbles groaned their disappointment.  
  
  
“Next time you girls actually do what I tell you to, I'll turn the keys over,” Blossom informed them as they piled into the station wagon.  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
Brick was bored out of his mind.  
  
  
He seemed to be bored a lot these days. Bored or pissed off. _Townsville brought out the best in him, after all_ , he thought to himself bitterly.  
  
  
He looked over his completed Algebra test one last time. Boomer had taken the same one yesterday and bitched about it to no end. It had taken Brick just under five minutes to finish. And he still had nearly an hour and a half to go.  
  
  
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.  
  
  
The teacher was looking at him suspiciously, and Brick pretended to do some scratch work in the margins of his test. He wanted to just turn in the fucking thing. It was hard enough trying to stay awake in class while the teacher tried to drill formulas he'd already familiarized himself with. It was hard enough pretending that he belonged in all these stupid classes, with all these stupid people who couldn't tell the difference between quadratic and quartic, syntax and simile, Napoleon and Nemo, for fucking fuck's sake. Brick was deceptively smart, and good at a lot of things, but being average was not one of them.  
  
  
He hated this school. He hated this city. Given the choice, he never— _ever_ —would've chosen to come back. Brick's jaw tightened. This was all Darius' fault. Brick should've contested his decision. Smith would've listened to him, would've caved eventually if Brick had only _fought for it_ —  
  
  
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Getting worked up about it here wasn't going to do him any good. He was having enough trouble trying to keep himself from calling Penny at home, begging for an assignment, a job, _anything_ to distract him from being stuck in this Godforsaken town. Hell, at this point, he'd even do it for free, money wasn't an issue anyway, not with the monthly stipend JS, Inc. was providing him and his brothers. Penny wouldn't tell, either, she liked the boys, and besides, even if he did find out, Smith himself wouldn't give a damn—  
  
  
No. Brick grit his teeth and angrily scratched out his fake margin work. He couldn't risk it anyway, with those fucking Powerpuffs and their feeble police force hovering all the time. That, and Darius was expecting it, waiting for Brick to cave in and throw a tantrum about being under-utilized and under-recognized, and Brick would gut himself before he'd ever give Darius the satisfaction.  
  
  
He sighed and glanced at the clock. Three minutes had gone by. God damn it.  
  
  
Brick glanced at the teacher to make sure he wasn't looking, then chanced a glimpse of the rest of the class. Buttercup and Butch were in this one too. Buttercup was chewing her pencil in half as she glared at her test, possibly trying to will the answers to magically appear. Butch didn't look like he really gave a shit. He was already half asleep.  
  
  
Suddenly Brick bristled, sensing something—no, hearing something. Something big. Something—  
  
  
He looked at his desk in relation to the rest of the room—he was seated up front in the leftmost row, about a foot away from the bookshelves on the wall. That wasn't going to do. He picked up his desk and moved three paces to the right, attracting the attention of the rest of the class.  
  
  
“Brick,” Mr. Ivy said sternly, “What are you—”  
  
  
Brick ignored him and sat down again just as a giant scaled claw came crashing through the roof, its pinky toe—or what one might have considered its pinky toe by monster standards—squashing the floor where Brick had sat not five seconds ago.  
  
  
Several things happened, not necessarily in this order: People started screaming and running for the door. Butch woke up. Buttercup took to the air, cursing under her breath and firing her eyebeams as she soared through the hole the giant foot had created. Brick stood up and calmly laid his test down at the now vacant teacher's desk.  
  
  
He watched as the giant foot disappeared, looking up to see a pale green streak of light, shortly joined by her pink and blue sisters. He and his brother were the only ones remaining in the room now.  
  
  
Before Butch could get any ideas, Brick grabbed him by the arm and hurried him out the door. “Come on,” he urged. “Let's grab Boomer.”  
  
  
“What?” Butch cried, darting a longing glance at the fight behind them. “And miss out on all the fun?”  
  
  
“We're not missing out on anything,” Brick responded, navigating through the mass chaos that had exploded in the halls. “Hurry up, he was in Gym with the blue one, he can't be far. Once we find him we'll take off.”  
  
  
“Take off? Where the fuck to?”  
  
  
“A front row seat,” Brick said grimly. “I want to see what these whiny little girls can _really_ do.”  
  
  
.~.  
  
  
It wasn't a difficult task, finding the girls. The ugly long armed, mono-eyed, scaly twenty-five story high friend they had with them was anything but subtle.  
  
  
Blossom was having the girls herd the monster as far away from the school as possible. Brick and his brothers trailed them on foot, making sure to stay out of sight. They wound up in an area of the city near the docks, and, after weighing their options, the boys snuck into an office building that was hastily being evacuated.  
  
  
They stopped on the twenty-second floor, and Brick waved them to the ceiling high windows that made up one wall. Boomer grabbed an office chair out of one of the deserted cubicles and rolled to a stop by the windows. “Primo seats,” he commented as he took in the battle raging on below them. “These windows going to be an issue?”  
  
  
“Too reflective from the outside,” Brick answered, opting to stand. “They're not going to see us.”  
  
  
“Are we taking bets? Can we take bets?” Butch asked, pressing his face to the glass. Boomer maneuvered his chair in between his brothers.  
  
  
“Who's your money on?” he asked.  
  
  
Butch considered. “She's out.” He pointed at Bubbles.  
  
  
“You think?” Boomer leaned on his knees, frowning in thought.  
  
  
“Totally. She'll be out in less than five minutes.”  
  
  
“Buttercup.” Brick's voice was low, confident. He pointed. “There's no strategy to her attacks; she just keeps hitting the thing head on.” He watched as she ignored yet another command from Blossom and shook his head. “She doesn't take orders, either. She's being completely irresponsible; she's either going to prematurely tire herself out or Godzilla there's going to knock her out himself. She's not going to last for long.”  
  
  
“Sounds like someone we know,” Boomer laughed.  
  
  
“Fuck you,” Butch said, swiping at Boomer's head.  
  
  
“Your listening skills could use a lot of work,” Brick admitted, his tone serious.  
  
  
“I listen as good as either of you,” Butch grumbled.  
  
  
Brick smirked. “You don't take criticism well either.”  
  
  
“Anyway,” Butch interrupted, eager to get back to the matter at hand, “I think you're wrong, Buttercup'll outlast Bubbles by ages—”  
  
  
A sudden POP reverberated outside, and all three boys watched Buttercup go sailing into space.  
  
  
Boomer winced. “Yikes. In the face.”  
  
  
Brick was sickeningly smug. “So how much do you owe me for that one?”  
  
  
“Whatever,” Butch said, keeping his voice neutral. “At least my girlfriend's still in.” Blossom had taken advantage of the monster's attack on her sister to zip behind it and power kick it in the head. The thing lost its balance and toppled forward, birthing a huge crater.  
  
  
“Golf claps.” Boomer politely tapped his hands together.  
  
  
“Her form wasn't bad,” Brick grudgingly admitted.  
  
  
“Her form is pretty fucking sweet, if you ask me,” Butch gurgled. “Is there a bucket somewhere I could, you know, drool into?”  
  
  
The creature started to rise, snarling, and a blue streak zoomed in, uppercutting it into the air. Blossom swung around, raising her leg for another kick. The boys watched for a while as it ping ponged between the girls, limp as a badminton shuttlecock as they volleyed it back and forth.  
  
  
Butch sighed. “What a woman.”  
  
  
“They oughtta just get it over with,” Brick said disdainfully. “Sooner or later it's going to—”  
  
  
He was interrupted by a sudden, furious roar, and the monster slapped a palm against Bubbles, crushing her into the pavement. Blossom immediately shot down, aiming her fist for the monster's elbow joint, but the monster spat a wad of pink, viscous saliva at her, and the force of it slammed her into the sidewalk. Almost instantly she was up and struggling, but the pink stuff held fast, and the more she strained against it the more resistant it seemed to become.  
  
  
“Ew.” Boomer made a face. “She's _covered_ in that shit.”  
  
  
Brick was eyeing the pink saliva; it was ripe with possibility. He made a mental note to get a sample before they left.  
  
  
“I never would've guessed Bubbles would be the last to go down,” Butch said, shaking his head in disbelief. The girl in question suddenly shot through the creature's hand, and it howled in pain, clutching its injured appendage. Her eyebeams seared across its chest, and she followed up with a hard punch. It toppled backwards onto the street, twitching.  
  
  
Boomer's face lit up. “Hey! Isn't that, like, me winning through a substitute, or something?”  
  
  
“You never actually placed a bet,” Brick pointed out. Bubbles was rushing to her sister's aid, but hesitated as she got close, unsure how to free her. “That was kind of disappointing, actually. The thing barely put up a—”  
  
  
“Oh holy fucking shit it's getting up!” Butch cackled, pointing, and sure enough, with shocking agility, the thing pulled itself up on its spindly arms, reared its head, and spat. Bubbles too was now covered in monster branded super glue.  
  
  
Boomer held up an imaginary microphone. “Now this is a real pickle! How will our heroes get out of this one? Brick! Thoughts?”  
  
  
“I think that was pathetic on all accounts,” Brick said in disgust. “Sloppy work, what kind of superhero team is this? They weren't paying attention to anything, one of them was out of the game within the first five minutes—”  
  
  
A glint in the sky caught Butch's attention, and he waved at Brick. “Hey. You see that?”  
  
  
Boomer stood on his chair and squinted his eyes. “Bird? Plane?”  
  
  
Brick rolled his eyes. “Superman?”  
  
  
“Too fast for any of those,” Butch said. The spark hurtled toward Earth like, like a hunter moving in for the kill, or a woman on a mission...  
  
  
Buttercup barreled into the beast at full force, and it went flying, leaving a huge concrete trench in its wake and only stopping when it hit a derelict building that crumpled upon contact. The grimace on the girl hovering amidst the dust only hardened.  
  
  
“Bad fucking time to piss me off,” the boys heard her call after it. She caught sight of her sisters and zipped down to help them.  
  
  
Boomer gave a low whistle. “Daaaaaaamn.”  
  
  
“That was... pretty impressive,” Brick permitted, eyes widening ever-so-slightly.  
  
  
“She whacked the fuck out of that thing,” Butch added, watching the behemoth she'd whacked the fuck out of rise to its feet. The movement in the distance caught Buttercup's attention too, and, possibly realizing there was little she could do for her sisters, she took off toward the monster again.  
  
  
“Stubborn bastard, isn't it?” Boomer idly commented.  
  
  
“Which one?” Brick retorted. They all watched as Buttercup kicked off the concrete, sleekly dodging more of the monster's spit as she jumped from one building to the next, and got in a good, solid punch to its midsection. It doubled over, then slapped her away. She came crashing back to the concrete, just under the building the boys were watching from. It then broke into a run, screeching as it barreled towards Buttercup, who grimaced as she coughed out dust.  
  
  
Butch chuckled and ran his tongue across his teeth, completely involuntarily. He knew that feeling, the grit that collected at the gums, the taste of mud in his mouth—  
  
  
She bulleted up to meet the monster and dodged, grabbing it as it narrowly missed her and used its own momentum against it, flinging it around and up into the sky. After awhile, Boomer started counting, and around twenty-three counts the thing finally fell back to Earth, sending a tremor through the city. The boys wobbled, briefly.  
  
  
All of them, boys and girls included, watched with bated breath. The monster didn't twitch. Buttercup's shoulders slumped—she'd been more tired than she'd let on—and met her incapacitated sisters on the ground again.  
  
  
Butch narrowed his eyes as his brothers made more mindless chatter. Something twitched.  
  
  
A monstrous claw suddenly shot out, snatching Buttercup by one leg and whipping her around headfirst into a building. The concrete shattered from the blow, and she was thrown against the asphalt. A stray green beam shot out, directionless, missing the beast by miles. Still clutching her, it flung her into another building, then into the glass windows of another smaller office building, back into the asphalt, against a junked car on the curb. Several more green streaks of light shot out from her hands, her eyes, none of them connecting with its target.  
  
  
Brick was shaking his head, disapproving. “She needs to stop doing that. The Chemical X won't have any time to heal her if she keeps wasting it on her energy beams...”  
  
  
Sure enough, the next time she was flung into a building, a faint smear of red painted itself on the concrete, glittering in the afternoon light. Butch's eyes lit up and he started to lean forward but he caught himself, darting a glance at Brick to see if he'd noticed.  
  
  
Brick hadn't, but Boomer was watching him warily. Butch ignored him and turned back to the glass.  
  
  
Finally the monster released her, letting her body slam into the asphalt like a limp rag doll. Her movements were slow and jerky, and she winced, clearly feeling every hit. Half of her face was coated in blood.  
  
  
The smirk that was threatening to morph into a full-fledged grin was difficult to keep off his face; Butch had to bite his lip to keep the smile from spreading.  
  
  
Buttercup forced herself to her feet and spat, curling her lip as the monster angled its head. It suddenly raised a foot and stomped down on her.  
  
  
The boys simply watched. Butch clenched and unclenched the fist his brothers couldn't see, trying to focus on the movement, the tensing in his muscles. If he concentrated he could feel it, _really_ feel it, the searing pain as his body forced itself to keep fighting until there was nothing left, until all the other senses shut down and there was only the adrenaline, the rush, the sensation of struggling not just to live, but to _feel alive_ —  
  
  
A burst of green light exploded underneath the creature's foot, and it slowly, slowly began to rise. Buttercup was straining underneath it, flying at full speed but still struggling with its immense weight.  
  
  
“She's wearing her body thin.” Brick's voice was coldly analytical. “If she keeps up like that she's going to pass out completely. She's expending more X than her system can produce, and it's already doing double duty trying to heal her wounds and power her muscles—”  
  
  
Buttercup spun out from underneath its foot and shot toward its head. Brick was right, though, her body was tired and her reflexes were weak too, so she probably never even saw the monster's holey palm coming toward her until it had already slammed her into the pavement again. At the curb, still coated in a thick layer of pink, Blossom and Bubbles frantically struggled against their binds, panic in their eyes.  
  
  
Brick shook his head in disgust. “Stupid.”  
  
  
Butch's eyes flicked briefly to his brother, then back to the scene below as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. He could've kept going. A real fighter would keep going, no matter how weak the body felt, no matter how many bruises or scratches it took.  
  
  
The monster lifted a limp Buttercup up, dangling her by one leg. After a moment's contemplation, it tipped its head back—  
  
  
“Oh, shit,” Boomer hissed through his teeth—  
  
  
It swallowed her whole, to the soundless, screaming protests of her sisters. Brick shrugged.  
  
  
“A lesson in strategy.”  
  
  
“What's the lesson,” Butch said distractedly, his eyes still on the monster.  
  
  
“To have a strategy.” Brick's attention was on the two remaining girls, still trapped in their sticky pink prison. “You, of all people, should be paying attention.”  
  
  
Butch was quiet.  
  
  
The monster moved towards Blossom and Bubbles, then halted. A deep, low rumble, like thunder, shook the air.  
  
  
Boomer squinted. “What the fuck—”  
  
  
Suddenly the beast _exploded_ into a million little pieces, and Butch and Brick dove out of the way as a large chunk of it came hurtling through the windows. An unlucky Boomer was slammed into the far wall.  
  
  
“Oh, _fuck_! Sick, dude! Jesus fucking Christ!” He rolled the gooey hunk off of him and gagged, dripping in monster entrails.  
  
  
Buttercup was hovering where the monster had stood, a thick coat of green dripping off her. Her own blood was still visible on her face; it'd actually spread quite a bit, and her pupils looked dilated. But her eyes were still shimmering green, bright and alert. She took a deep breath and inspected her handiwork; they were going to have a fuck of a time cleaning this up.  
  
  
It took a gargantuan effort to keep the smug, nasty grin off his face as Butch turned to his brother and asked, “What do you make of _that_?”  
  
  
His brother wasn't amused. “Defeating that thing required about half the energy she spent and virtually no spilled blood on her part. She didn't take a second to think, or plan. She didn't even listen to her sister's fucking orders, just took off like a headless chicken.”  
  
  
The smile that had threatened to break across Butch's face dissolved at Brick's words. “She got the job done.”  
  
  
“She got lucky.” Brick gave his brother a hard look, scrutinizing him.  
  
  
Butch tried to keep his face apathetic, and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”  
  
  
After a long moment, Brick turned from him to Boomer, who had squished his way back to the group. He wrinkled his face. “Dude. You reek.”  
  
  
Boomer glared at him.  
  
  
Butch went back to watching the girls—Buttercup had kicked open a fire hydrant and aimed the spray as best she could at her sisters. The pink stuff started to dissolve. As soon as Blossom's head was free, she screamed at Buttercup, “What were you _thinking_? You could've been _killed_!”  
  
  
Even in her exhausted state, Buttercup rolled her eyes and ignored her sister, trying to wash the mess off her via the fire hydrant.  
  
  
“Come on,” Brick abruptly said. “Wouldn't do us any good to be caught at the site of a monster attack.”  
  
  
“Man,” Boomer groaned, holding his arms out on either side of his body. “I'm going to need five fucking elephant nozzles to get this shit off of me.”  
  
  
Butch followed them to the exit, keeping his distance, partly because Boomer really did stink, partly because then Brick couldn't see the slow, crazed smile that crept onto his face.  
  
  
Finally. Someone who got it.  
  
  
The slow mechanisms of a plan began to form in Butch's head.

.~.

“That was reckless,” Blossom reprimanded Buttercup for the thousandth time that day at the dinner table.  
  


  
“It's _dead_ , isn't it?” Buttercup groaned, waving at the Professor to pass the potatoes. “And I'm all healed up already, God.”  
  


  
“You put yourself in serious danger, there!”  
  


  
Buttercup scoffed. “We put ourselves in serious danger every day!”  
  


  
“You didn't listen to me!” Blossom angrily stabbed at her food. “If you'd been paying attention when it first attacked, we could've taken it on as a team, but no, you had to—”  
  


  
“How was your day, Professor?” Bubbles tried to speak over the shouting.  
  


  
“Good!” The Professor's voice carried well over the argument that was going on at the table. “Except for that lapse in the monster barrier, obviously—but you girls took care of that—”  
  


  
“Yeah, we sure did, didn't we, Blossom?” Buttercup interrupted. “If it wasn't for you being all trapped in monster spit, I never would've defeated that thing! I just don't know how I could've done it without you!”  
  


  
Blossom gaped. “You little—”  
  


  
The hotline suddenly buzzed, and silence settled over the table. After a few rings, Bubbles looked at her sisters, locked in a staring match to the death. “I'll get it,” she decided, and zipped to the living room.  
  


  
“Powerpuff hotline,” she chirped as she lifted the receiver to her ear.  
  


  
“Girls!” the Mayor's familiar voice spluttered on the line. “There's a break-in at the prison!”  
  


  
Bubbles furrowed her brow and smiled. The Mayor mixed up his words a lot when he was under stress. “A break-in? Mayor, I think you mean break-out—”  
  


  
“No! I mean a break- _in_! Hurry girls! There's no telling what they may do!”  
  


  
After assuring him they were on their way, Bubbles hung up and zoomed back to the kitchen. “There's a break-in at the prison, girls!”  
  


  
Everybody turned to look at her funny. Bubbles was known to mix up her words when she was under stress. “A break-in? Don't you mean a break-out?” Blossom said soothingly.  
  


  
Bubbles rolled her eyes.  
  


  
.~.  
  
  


“You don't have to be so hard on her.” Bubbles made sure her voice sounded neutral. The cityscape stretched out below them as she and Blossom flew. “She's, you know... been kinda stressed out this month—”  
  


  
“She needs to learn to listen,” Blossom said firmly. They'd opted for Buttercup to stay at home, considering the energy she'd spent (“Wasted,” Blossom had interjected) earlier in the day. “It doesn't matter what personal things she's got going on—she never chooses to share that stuff with us, which is also a mistake. If she's got something on her mind, she should say so. But no, she keeps it all to herself—”  
  


  
“You know she's never been very good at expressing herself,” Bubbles interrupted. “So she lets all her feelings... I dunno, build up—”  
  


  
“And lets everything out when there's a fight, and winds up going overboard, and wearing herself out, and putting herself in serious danger, like today.” Blossom shook her head and clicked her tongue. “It's irresponsible, is what it is.”  
  


  
Bubbles watched as the prison rose up in the distance, seconds away. After a moment, she said quietly, “It's human.”  
  
  


“But we're not.”  
  
  


Her sister's response took Bubbles by surprise, and she shot her a beseeching look. “So what are we?”  
  


  
Blossom's face was unreadable; she was closing it off on purpose. “Better,” she said softly.  
  


  
Lights and sirens were all ablaze at the prison, and Blossom and Bubbles were instantly drawn to a sizable hole on the least lit side of the building. As they zoomed down, a figure suddenly appeared, silhouetted in the light.  
  


  
Blossom and Bubbles screeched to a stop, gaping.  
  


  
“Princess?”  
  


  
.~.  
  
  


“She tried to break her dad _out_?”  
  
  


Bubbles nodded her head vigorously at the gaggle of students clustered around her in art. “She'd upgraded one of her old supersuits and tried to bust Mr. Morbucks out of prison.”  
  


  
“What was he in for?”  
  
  


“The police said insider trading, whatever that is,” Bubbles said. “Something to do with money.”  
  


  
“I heard her mom threw a real fit,” one of the other girls said in a low voice. “Packed up Princess' things and sent her off to some French boarding school.”  
  


  
“Is that why she's not here today?”  
  


  
At the other end of the table, Brick gave a heavy sigh. Blocking out this inane gossip was harder than he'd expected. He flipped open his sketchbook and rummaged for a pencil.  
  


  
“Alright, class.” Miss Maybury clapped her hands. “We're having a gesture drawing session, and will be visiting the Dance III class today for it—”  
  


  
“Yay!” Bubbles exploded. “Blossom's choreographing their piece!”  
  


  
Brick suddenly went still. Was this someone's idea of a joke?  
  


  
Miss Maybury continued, “The focus of this visit should be to capture lines of action. I don't necessarily want to see full-fledged sketches, or a lot of detail beyond a head. Your drawings should look more like stick figures. Focus on capturing the moment the body is in movement. With a good line of action, it should be clear even without any details what the body is doing.”  
  


  
Her words went in one ear and out the other for Brick. He frowned. Dancers? Both of them? This couldn't just be a coincidence...  
  


  
The class filed out of the room, chatting amongst themselves as they moved down the hall to the studio.  
  


  
“I hear your sister's a real Nazi,” one of the guys said to Bubbles. Brick angled his head and slowed down, slightly.  
  


  
“Who told you that?” Bubbles sounded as if she were pouting.  
  


  
“No, it's true! My younger sister's in the class, she says Blossom is a real perfectionist—”  
  


  
“I'll give her that,” Bubbles admitted. “She's really good, though...”  
  
  


The group of students, led by Miss Maybury, traipsed through the empty locker room. Blossom's voice was muffled behind the door, counting out beats and barking orders—  
  


  
“Girls! Come on! I thought I told you to work on your 6-step _last class_!”  
  
  


“Nazi,” sang the boy from earlier, and Bubbles kicked him.  
  
  


Miss Maybury knocked politely, and Mrs. Olson came to the door. She beamed.  
  
  


“Hey! Right on time. You're in for a treat, a few of the officers were excused from their fourth period classes to help us out. ” She backed up to let them in. “Officers, the Art IV class is here—”  
  


  
The entire dance class whirled around. Blossom was one in a line of three girls closet to the mirrors. Bubbles waved at her, and she smiled and waved back. It dropped off her face, however, when she caught sight of Brick. He inwardly groaned and rolled his eyes.  
  


  
“Girls, I'm going to go finish up some paperwork,” Mrs. Olson announced. “Blossom, you know what to do.”  
  


  
Miss Maybury smiled as the director left. “Hi, Blossom.”  
  


  
“Afternoon,” Blossom said, her eyes guarded and on Brick.  
  


  
“Care to explain what you're working on today?”  
  


  
Blossom cleared her throat and stepped away from the group slightly. “Of course. The Dance III class is doing a hip-hop routine for the Company's Winter show next month.”  
  
  


“Choreographed by Blossom,” Cindy announced. She was one of the other three girls at the front, and she caught Brick's eye and grinned. He twitched his lips in response.  
  
  


“Where can my students sit so they're out of your way?”  
  
  


Cindy and the other girl at the front laughed. “Good luck!” the third girl giggled. “She's got them moving all over the place.”  
  


  
“Anywhere should be fine so long as they're against the wall,” Blossom huffed, frowning at her fellow officers. “Um, you probably want some... dynamic poses?”  
  


  
“Oh, that'd be great, where should they sit to catch those?”  
  
  


“Like Mel said, we'll be moving all over the place, and facing all directions at some point. Most of it will be to the front, of course, so you guys might want to bunch up at the mirrors. But, we probably won't do a full run-through of the routine till towards the end, we're still drilling specific areas—”  
  


  
“That's fine,” Miss Maybury said dismissively. “They can do some free sketching until then. Class, be sure to stay out of their way. Blossom, we're not even here.”  
  
  


Blossom's eyes flickered to Brick and narrowed. “Right.”  
  
  


Brick grimaced and seated himself at the side wall, as far away from her as he could get.  
  
  


Blossom cleared her throat and went back to instructing. “Okay girls. Let's split up! Middle section, you're with me. You are going to get this 6-step right, or so help me—”  
  
  


The class split into three groups, with Mel and Cindy taking the other two. Within minutes the studio was a cacophony of voices—the three dance officers barking out eight counts, the art students socializing as they sketched. Occasionally Mel or Cindy stopped the girls and backpedaled, isolating certain counts to re-drill. Blossom, however, singled out dancers.  
  


  
“Kelly! Extend your arm! It looks like a dead fish!”  
  


  
“April! Smile! For Pete's sake, you're not at a funeral!”  
  


  
“Danae! Pay attention, and _stop staring at Brick_!”  
  


  
Brick looked up abruptly at the sound of his name. One of the girls was flushed red from head to toe. Instead of glaring at her, though, Blossom was glaring at Brick.  
  


  
“Brick,” she said slowly. “Maybe you should move.”  
  


  
The chatter in the room died almost instantly. Miss Maybury had disappeared from the studio; they could hear her chatting with Mrs. Olson back in the office. Bubbles was seated at the mirrors near Blossom, her wary eyes darting to Brick. He narrowed his eyes.  
  


  
“Danae's not the only one,” Blossom announced. “A lot of you keep staring at him when you ought to be paying attention to your officers.”  
  


  
Brick bit his bottom lip and jumped to his feet. He briskly strode to the center of the mirrors, passing Bubbles, and dropped his sketchbook with a loud _thump_ , turning to Blossom and tilting his head. He was standing directly in front of her now.  
  


  
“Better?” he snapped, voice acidic. She only glowered at him.  
  
  


He sat, his glare still boring into her, and flung his sketchbook open. “Please. Don't let me distract _you_.”  
  


  
Practice resumed with tension heavy in the air. Blossom seemed especially affected; she was counting even louder and yelling more. Brick frequently checked the clock on the wall, unable to lose himself in his sketching.  
  


  
“You like working in charcoal?”  
  


  
Bubbles had edged closer, and Brick blinked. After a moment's contemplation, he responded, “I do.”  
  


  
Bubbles shifted. “I like acrylics, myself. I noticed, you do all your sketches in charcoal.”  
  
  


“You sure have been doing a good job of watching me,” Brick said humorlessly. He nodded at Blossom. “Tell her to give you a gold star when you two get home.”  
  


  
To his surprise, Bubbles laughed. He gave her a weird look. She cleared her throat and tapped her sketchbook. “So, I like acrylics, but pencils are okay. I like the softer leads, at least a 6B.”  
  


  
“Why are you talking to me,” Brick said incredulously, shaking his head.  
  


  
“I was just noticing, was all. You like softer leads too, don't you? You haven't used anything harder than a 5B—”  
  


  
“ _Bubbles_.” Blossom was staring straight ahead as she blocked in her moves, her voice hard. “You're talking too loud. It's distracting.”  
  


  
Bubbles pulled her lips in between her teeth, curling into herself sheepishly. “Sorry, sis.”  
  
  


Quiet settled in their corner again, the dance counts and idle chatter fading into background noise. Remarkably, Brick found it easier to concentrate, and within the span of a few minutes he began to relax, rolling the charcoal in his hands, blowing away the dust as he scratched soft, thick black lines into his sketchbook—  
  
  


There was a tap on his shoulder, and he looked at Bubbles. She had an odd look on her face as she studied her sketchbook, one hand tapping the floor next to him. He followed the line of her arm—she moved a loose piece of paper across the hardwood in his direction. He squinted. It was a rough sketch of him sitting, hunched over his sketchbook. Her lines were messy, but confident, and it was actually a pretty good drawing—  
  


  
He grunted and went back to his work. Five seconds later she tapped him again, and he looked down to find another sheet, this one with a giant frowny face drawn on it. He gave her a look. She pretended to be engrossed in her sketching.  
  


  
“Okay,” Blossom announced, clapping her hands to bring the class to attention. “I think we're ready to block the whole thing out, in eight counts. We'll do that twice, once to time, and then to music.”  
  


  
Cindy's and Mel's groups moved back to the center of the room, and several art students maneuvered their way to the front of the room—Blossom adjusted them as necessary. She blew her bangs out of her face and took a deep breath, staring straight ahead and ignoring the two people directly seated in front of her. “Ready, girls?”  
  


  
“Go Blossom!” Bubbles whispered, doing a little fist pump. Brick and Blossom both gave her a look.  
  


  
“Middle section, remember the 6-step,” Blossom warned. “We're skipping the opening solo, and going right into the head lift. Five, six, seven, eight—”  
  


  
The class looked really good, when they were moving in unison. Mel and Cindy were especially good, with wide smiles on their faces, as if it were a true performance. Brick filled several pages with action lines while he was watching them. Blossom, for all that she was right in front of them, wasn't as arresting, he smugly noted to himself. She was too busy watching the class, scrutinizing their every move. Granted, the middle section—her group—had significantly more... athletic moves than the outer sections; they were on the floor a lot, and several girls, he noticed, were wearing knee pads.  
  
  


It wasn't a perfect performance from top to bottom, and as it ended Blossom immediately started calling individuals out again, analyzing where they'd faltered and offering them advice on how to fix it. Ten minutes of that, and they were ready to go once more.  
  


  
“To time, now,” Blossom said. “You better keep up, we're going straight through. Five, six, seven, eight—”  
  


  
Again, Mel and Cindy outshone the rest, and again, Brick felt remarkably satisfied that Blossom was rather average as a dancer. He couldn't imagine what Bubbles had meant when she said her sister was really good, but then again, Bubbles seemed the type to hand out meaningless praise by the truckload.  
  


  
Blossom ran down the list of offending persons once more when they were done, but she did concede a little. “It's looking better, girls. Good job. To music, now—make sure to keep up. I'll freestyle the solo at the beginning for now, watch for my cue to come in. Michelle, do me a favor and hit play on the stereo? Crank it up. Thank you.”  
  
  


A quick, steady beat began pulsing from the speakers, gradually growing louder, and, out of habit now, Brick's eyes were drawn to Cindy and Mel, their heads down. A sudden movement caught his attention, though, and he turned to see Blossom snaking amidst the class, her body carving a smooth path through the crowd.  
  
  


She moved well—strikingly well, in fact, and her body was forming some damn good lines. His charcoal flashed across the page of its own volition.  
  
  


She sidled to the front, and there was her cue. The room suddenly burst into motion, the entire place an organized, visual explosion of movement, and Brick blinked, taken aback. Next to him, Bubbles tapped her feet giddily on the floor in excitement.  
  
  


Put together, he could see the routine was surprisingly complicated. Groups split into smaller sections, like a dividing cell, then rejoined the first, and they moved in every damn direction, but it was fluid, unified. There was a lot of popping going on—he never would've pegged Blossom the hip hop type. But she had them doing everything, from isolation, to strobing, to waving, tutting—  
  


  
And Blossom. Maybe it was the music. It had to be the music. But she was a completely different dancer now, her eyes bright and far away instead of devoutly focused on the class, the smile on her face so natural it was hard to believe she might be faking it for a performance.  
  


  
Brick realized he was staring and felt disgusted with himself. He forced his eyes back to Cindy, to Mel, tried some simple sketches. He paused. They looked dead compared to the ones he'd drawn while watching Blossom. He bit his lip and tried a few more. Fuck. He might as well not draw any.  
  
  


Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze to the girl in front of him. She and the middle section hit the floor, knees digging into the wood, the angle of her hip so sharp it could've cut glass. The charcoal flashed again, and Brick glanced at his paper. The one line he'd just drawn, of that move, that line alone could've been slapped into a frame and sold for thousands.  
  


  
He couldn't help it; despite what Miss Maybury may or may not have said, he started adding small details. With superpowers, it was easy to keep up. Every move Blossom hit was a deep scratch on the page, and by the time she moved into the next Brick had already sketched her torso, limbs, the path of her hair. She was good. _Really_ fucking good. It almost felt like cheating, drawing her movements, because they were so captivating, so beautiful—  
  


  
The gears in Brick's brain ground to a sudden halt, and his charcoal snapped in half. He stared at the spray of black dust on his page. What was he thinking?  
  
  


This sort of thing happened, sometimes—Brick would get lost in his work, and his mind would get away from him. Ugh. What the fuck, brain?  
  
  


He set his jaw and forcibly lowered his sketchbook. He'd drawn enough; he was two pages away from running out of room. The routine was coming to a close, too—there were a couple poses that Brick very nearly wished he'd captured, but he remained stubborn and crossed his arms.  
  
  


The art class applauded for the dancers once they were done, and Bubbles jumped up, bouncing up and down. “That was sooo crazy good! You choreographed that whole thing, I can't believe it! The wavy thing you did in the middle was the best, I loved it, sooo cool...”  
  


  
Blossom laughed and smiled. “Good to hear.”  
  
  


“Wanna see my sketches?” Bubbles prodded, and reached for her book without waiting for an answer. She caught sight of Brick's sketches and paused. “Oh, wow,” she said, amazed, crouching and shifting to get a better look. “Those are beautiful—”  
  


  
Brick slammed his book shut and gave her a sharp look. She straightened, taken aback.  
  
  


“No need to get all huffy,” Blossom said. “She was paying you a high compliment.” Gone were those bright eyes, that dancer's smile. The narrow glare Brick had gotten so used to over the past month had taken its place.  
  


  
Past month. It was February now, Brick reflected. Already? How'd that happen?  
  


  
He stood up, dusting the charcoal off his hands and wondering whether to get snippy back or just ignore her, when the door opened and Mrs. Olson peeked in. “Brick?”  
  
  


The three of them looked up in surprise. “Yes?” Brick said slowly, voice wary.  
  
  


“Oh, there you are. Um, there's... someone here to see you?”  
  
  


Brick's eyes went wide, taken aback. Blossom gave him a suspicious glance as he walked across the studio and through the door.  
  
  


“She's here in my office,” Mrs. Olson explained, and led him to the edge of the locker room, where a sharp looking woman stood, her pale, freckled face framed by red curls. She looked familiar...  
  
  


She turned to greet them as they walked in the door. “Hello there. Brick?”  
  
  


“Yes,” he acknowledged, shaking her hand. “And you are?”  
  
  


“Mrs. Morbucks,” the woman said, smiling warmly, and something clicked in Brick's brain. “You were at Princess' party a week or so back, yes?”  
  
  


“That I was,” Brick said, nodding.   
  
  


Mrs. Morbucks' smile widened. “I knew I'd find you, sooner or later. Well. I have a proposition for you.”  
  


  
_-end Ch. 1-_


	2. All I Want Is Easy Action, or A Kiss With A Fist Is Better Than None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: For mathkid and JoJoDancer and their mighty beta-swords of justice! 1/28/11 update – Fixed the formatting issues. Breaks now appear as they should.

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester  
February - All I Want Is Easy Action** or **A Kiss With a Fist Is Better Than None**  
 _-sbj-_  
  
Blossom scurried down the hall back to her AP English class, fighting the crowds of students that were trying to leave.  
  
“Mrs. Yang, hi,” she said breathlessly as she tumbled back into class and started to collect her things. “Thanks for letting me go to the studio.”  
  
“No problem, Blossom,” her teacher assured her, waving a dismissive hand. “We were just watching Hamlet, after all. How was practice?”  
  
“Good,” Blossom said automatically, her brow furrowing at the memory of Brick—she'd forgotten he was in the Art class.  
  
Suddenly the door burst open, and one of the regular English teachers came striding into the room, waving a paper in his hand.  
  
“Stella! You have to see this!”  
  
“Charlie? What's the matter—”  
  
“I need to transfer a student into your class, straightaway,” he said urgently. “Here. This is the last paper I asked the class to do, comparing an essay of Camus' to another book they'd read of their choice.”  
  
“Why are there lines crossed out?” Mrs. Yang asked, squinting as she looked it over.  
  
Blossom rummaged through her things—shoot, she was missing a book.  
  
“I originally asked the class to do a simple five page paper—he turned that in this morning, look—eight pages. I told him I couldn't accept it, and then he took out a pen and scratched out parts of it, and handed it back, telling me that should take it down to five.”  
  
“It works,” Mrs. Yang said incredulously. “He did this on the spot?”  
  
“Yes! And it's an impressive paper. I mean, certainly not, you know, what I would've expected from a regular English student—”  
  
Something occurred to Blossom as she located her book, and she turned slowly to look at the two teachers, engrossed in conversation. Buttercup's first period was English, and she shared it with the boys—  
  
No. It couldn't be.  
  
“He was the only student who chose The Stranger as the book to compare the essay to,” Charlie was saying, but paused as Mrs. Yang held up a hand.  
  
“That's on your reading list, though, isn't it?”  
  
“Yes, but! All of my students _hated_ Camus! I had trouble getting them to just finish it!”  
  
“He does demonstrate... advanced knowledge of the material, if this paper is any indication,” Mrs. Yang said thoughtfully, perusing the essay.  
  
Blossom's curiosity overwhelmed her. “Um, excuse me?” Both teachers looked up. “I was just curious—who is this?”  
  
It wouldn't be him. It couldn't. That was silly, that was...  
  
“One of the new students,” the man said, straightening and adjusting his glasses. “Brick.”  
  
Blossom felt her stomach bottom out.  
  
“Have you talked to the Principal yet?” Mrs. Yang asked her colleague.  
  
“At lunch.” He beamed. “She's supposed to be calling him in right now...”  
  
As the two teachers conversed, Blossom stealthily inched closer. The essay lay face up on Mrs. Yang's desk, and Blossom focused her supersight so she could scan the first page from where she stood. The pit in her stomach deepened as she read. He was comparing a book of Camus' to an essay of Camus'—not a creative approach by any means, but they were right, that style of writing didn't suit a student in a regular English class...  
  
She excused herself, practically running out of the room. This was... unacceptable. She had to talk to Ms. Keane.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick walked through the crowded hallway, wondering what it was about today. He still had no idea what Mrs. Morbucks needed; just as she was about to go into detail, one of the office staff members had appeared, requesting he meet with the Principal. Mrs. Morbucks told him she'd call some other time.  
  
The Principal. He racked his memory. Had he done something? Worse yet, had his brothers done something? Or—his eyes narrowed—had one of the girls accused them of evil plotting or criminal activity? He wouldn't put it past Blossom, that suspicious little—  
  
His superhearing suddenly picked up on her voice as he approached the main office, and he paused, listening.  
  
“Ms. Keane, it has to be a mistake—”  
  
“Blossom, look, I've got all his assignments and test scores here from all his classes, he's aced every one of them, clearly he isn't being challenged—”  
  
Brick's eyes widened. Shit. Shit! He thought he'd dumbed everything down enough! Damn it, he knew he should've purposely answered some of those questions wrong. If it weren't for his well-deserved pride! Damn. This was exactly what he was afraid of happening. Now Blossom was even more suspicious, knowing that he was intelligent—  
  
“No, it can't be—he can't be this... this brilliant! He must have cheated, or—”  
  
Brick's temper flared and it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down the door. _Cheated_?! What the fuck?! Where the fuck did she get off, accusing him, when he hadn't even _done anything_?!  
  
“Blossom.” Ms. Keane's voice was stern. “I think your emotions are clouding your judgment. From what I've seen and heard this past month, the boys don't show any signs of—”  
  
“It's a _trick_ , Ms. Keane—”  
  
“As far as I can tell, they haven't been acting any different from any other high schoolers, and you, frankly, need to settle down. Now please, he'll be here any second, and how would you feel if he heard the nasty things you were saying about him?”  
  
“Unremorseful,” Blossom answered automatically, her voice grave.  
  
Brick swung open the door, causing both student and Principal to jump. Blossom's eyes went wide, then steeled at the sight of him. He ignored her and strode up to Ms. Keane.  
  
“You wanted to see me, Principal Keane?”  
  
Ms. Keane smiled and gave Blossom a sharp look. The girl started to gather her things, but slowly.  
  
“Your teachers have had a lot of good things to say about you, Brick.”  
  
“Have they,” he said. Blossom hovered in his peripherals, pretending to fiddle with her cell.  
  
“The quality of your work has demonstrated that you'd be well suited to enroll in the Advanced Placement classes—Blossom, did you need something?”  
  
Blossom snapped her phone shut and shot Brick a look.  
  
“Sorry, Ms. Keane. I'll get going.” She started for the door.  
  
“Hold it.” Ms. Keane raised a hand, and Blossom halted. “On second thought. Please stay. Brick, what I'm getting at is, we'd like to move you to the Advanced Placement courses. Clearly the regular classes aren't challenging enough...”  
  
Brick heard a tiny sound behind him—Blossom had stifled a scoff.  
  
He had been prepared to deny Ms. Keane, to claim that the regular classes were fine, that he didn't feel comfortable transferring. But that sound, that tiny, little, insignificant sound from that insignificant person boiled his blood. He gritted his teeth. Fuck her.  
  
Fuck. Her.  
  
“You're right, Ms. Keane,” he said in an even voice. “They're not.” He could sense Blossom tensing behind him. “If you think I'm ready for something more... intellectually stimulating, I'm as game as you are.”  
  
Ms. Keane grinned. “Excellent. We'll set about adjusting your schedule—now, regarding this matter of the girls... you know, 'watching you,' I don't mean to imply that you're untrustworthy, I mean, over the course of the past month you haven't given us any reason to doubt your integrity, but I feel certain... parties might still feel more comfortable if you continued to share classes with—”  
  
“Me,” Blossom interrupted, her expression one of shock. “You're saying he would be sharing classes with _me_.”  
  
Brick looked at Blossom and turned back to Ms. Keane, instantly dismissive. “I'm sorry, I don't think that's—”  
  
“Now, now, it's a compromise, isn't it?” Ms. Keane's harsh eyes were on Blossom, who stilled under her glare.  
  
“I suppose,” Blossom mumbled.  
  
“Principal Keane,” Brick said firmly, “on second thought, I'd like to rescind my request to—”  
  
“What's the matter?” Ms. Keane said, concerned.  
  
“To be frank?” Brick glanced at Blossom out of the corner of his eye, and his voice was a low growl as he continued, “I'm afraid we don't like each other very much.”  
  
“ _Ha_!” To both Blossom and Brick's surprise, Ms. Keane let out a sharp, short laugh. “Don't even think about using that as an excuse.”  
  
“I'm serious!” he cried.  
  
“It's true!” Blossom clamored.  
  
“It's called 'high school,' ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Keane declared, unwavering in her lack of sympathy as she waved them away. “We bid you welcome. Now deal with it.”  
  
Brick and Blossom filed back into the empty hallway, semi-stunned. After a moment, Blossom shook her head and issued a scathing glare at him, which he gladly returned.  
  
“You may have won her and all your teachers over, but you don't have me fooled for a second,” she snarled.  
  
Brick scoffed, “'Fooled?' Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?”  
  
“Don't you _dare_ insult me—”  
  
“Or _what_? You'll arrest me? Under what charge? 'Officer, he's in all my classes, it's so horrible, I can't go on—'”  
  
“Ugh!” Blossom shook her head, fuming, and snapped, “You're such a despicable person! You aren't even in any of my classes yet, and I'm already sick of you—”  
  
She lifted a hand and stabbed him in the chest, and he brusquely swiped it away, jabbing his own in her face. “Don't you fucking touch me—”  
  
“ _Watch your language_ —”  
  
“ _Back off_ —”  
  
“Blossom?” A timid voice broke through their confrontation, and they both whirled on the girl who'd interrupted them. She cowered underneath their glare.  
  
Blossom's face instantly softened, and she said, “Oh, drills. I'm sorry, I just...” She glared at Brick once more before joining her fellow teammate. “I got distracted,” she said bitterly.  
  
Brick glowered as he watched them both stroll back to the studio. Blossom issued one final glare over her shoulder before she disappeared down the hall.  
  
“Fuck,” he hissed to himself as he burst out the doors and took off for home. Within seconds he was flying up the stairs of their complex, fumbling for his keys so he wouldn't break the damn door down.  
  
“Hey, dude—whoa.” Boomer made to greet him as he burst into their apartment, still seething. “What the fuck happened—”  
  
“Outta my way,” he snapped, instantly heading for his room, Penny's number echoing in his brain—  
  
He stopped as he reached his door and let out an anguished noise of frustration. Fuck! No, calling her for a job would be stupid! What good would it do? He twisted and headed for the opposite side of the apartment—thank God he'd had that installed, thank God JS, Inc. had bought the property, thank God he'd _insisted_ on a training simulator in the house—  
  
“Brick?” Boomer's voice echoed behind him as he flung the door open. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Don't bother me,” Brick called back, and slammed the door.  
  
Boomer blinked.  
  
Five seconds later, Butch was thrown out of the training room, landing in a heap at Boomer's feet.  
  
Butch blinked slowly, stunned. “What the hell just happened?”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup dashed home after practice, cursing under her breath. It was her turn to do dinner tonight and she had absolutely nothing planned. She was going to have to scrounge around in the fridge for _something_ —  
  
“Hey,” she called out as she crossed the threshold, dropping her stuff in a heap by the door. “I'm home!”  
  
Bubbles' voice called back a muffled greeting from the depths of their room, and Buttercup started for the kitchen.  
  
Suddenly the front door banged open, and an extremely pissed off Blossom stalked inside, headed straight for the training room in the lab.  
  
“Not that anybody cares,” she announced loudly, “but this is the _worst possible day_!”  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles both poked their heads out in time to see the door to the lab slam. Soon after, it opened, and Blossom gently shoved their father out.  
  
“Please, Professor,” she said in a strained voice. “I just need a bit.”  
  
The door shut again, and three confused faces turned to look at it. After a second, the Professor turned to his other two daughters.  
  
“Um. So... how was _your_ day?”  
  
.~.  
  
“He was in there for, like two hours the other day,” Boomer said, a tad concerned. It'd been two days since Brick had come home in a fit of rage and dove into the training room. Since then he'd been _extremely_ pissy, damn near unapproachable, and not very prone to conversation.  
  
“What's your point?” Butch shrugged, unperturbed. It was their first lunch day without Brick.  
  
“I dunno, it's... he hasn't been this mad in awhile.”  
  
“You're not counting the day he found out we were coming here for our 'vacation?'”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Boomer admitted. “There was that.” He thought for a moment. “But that was still different.”  
  
“Whatever, dude.” Butch chugged his soda. “That bastard's getting no sympathy from me. He gets to share damn near every class with that gorgeous, walking, talking slice of heaven. God. If it was me, I would've jumped her bones by now, for sure.”  
  
Boomer laughed politely, then clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder and stood. “Hey, I'll see you. I'm going to go chill out for a bit.”  
  
After bidding his brother goodbye, Boomer shuffled out of the cafeteria and over to the music hall. Neither Buttercup nor Bubbles made to follow him; at this point they tended to leave the boys to their own devices. Several students were clustered in small groups in the music hall, with more groups occupying the practice rooms. Many of them waved at him to join them. He grinned.  
  
Popularity was a happy luxury to Boomer. Where Brick had been pissed as all hell when the company had decided to send them to Townsville to “take a break,” Boomer had been secretly... well, kind of elated. Townsville was just big enough, not quite a huge, sprawling, metropolitan city, which practically made it the perfect place to be noticed. Granted, with their history, it would've been hard not to be noticed. But still.  
  
Boomer got along with his brothers, but the life Brick had led the boys into was all... professional. Naturally, Brick had evolved into the idea man and Butch into the guy who was so bloodthirsty he practically needed a leash. It didn't leave a lot of room for Boomer to shine; he was too... easygoing, too laid back. Kind of a clown, but nobody really needed a joker around. Jokers always got chucked out of the deck.  
  
Except in high school. In high school he could be somebody besides a... a soldier, or whatever you were supposed to call him and his brothers. Hired men. They were still kids, regardless of what Brick thought. And Boomer was a kid who wanted to have friends, to be liked, to have a girlfriend, even.  
  
So thank God for Townsville. It was as if it existed within its own little dome, closed off from the outside world. Its citizens were naive, gullible, and easy to win over. The memory of the crowd cheering after Boomer's first performance with the band made him giddy; he couldn't stop grinning when he thought about it. Even Brick's shadowed expression afterwards had not deterred his mood.  
  
He only had a semester, he reflected, a little wistfully. But when he set his heart on something, even his smarter, stronger brothers had a time of it trying to shake him off. And he was determined to make his brief fling with high school a memorable one.  
  
“Hey, guys,” he said brightly as he waltzed into one of the practice rooms. People shouted their hellos; with that boyish smile and relaxed gait he came off as far less intimidating than either of his brothers. He laughed as he sat with them, catching the eye of one girl in particular, pixie-ish and trim. He'd seen her before; she'd been a bass player at the Battle of the Bands. She'd been cute there, too.  
  
He smiled a winning smile at her, and she laughed, too comfortable in his presence to blush.  
  
“Hi, Haley,” he addressed her, and the rest of the room _Oohed_.  
  
Maybe he'd have a girlfriend by the end of the school year after all.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick had had better days.  
  
As annoying as Buttercup and Bubbles had been, after a couple of classes with the boys, they'd settled back into their own routines. This one, though. God. Every time he moved or took a breath, she was on his case, glaring daggers and fuming. She never took her eyes off him for a second. He hadn't thought anyone, superhuman or no, could go that long without blinking.  
  
The last class of the day was a relief. She was doing a presentation in English that day, giving her something to focus on besides functioning as watchdog, and Brick welcomed the brief respite.  
  
Blossom perched herself at the front of the class, introducing the topic of discussion: Socrates. Brick faded in and out of her presentation; he'd read Plato and didn't feel the need to revisit the dialogues with an unwelcome narrator.  
  
“But to give you all a real idea of the sorts of discussions Plato's works were based on, I thought we could have our own Socratic dialogue, right here in class,” she stated with a mischievous grin. Class discussion led by Blossom. Brick sighed. Great. A number of students perked up, eager to participate.  
  
“So someone should start us off with a question,” Blossom urged.  
  
A girl seated next to Brick spoke up. “What is love?”  
  
“Baby, don't hurt me,” someone called out, and everyone laughed.  
  
“Is a formal education truly necessary?”  
  
“Does rain have a purpose?”  
  
“Is there an afterlife?”  
  
“Can I get fries with that?”  
  
“Well, some of those work,” Blossom slowly admitted, pursing her lips in thought. “Though obviously that last one doesn't count—”  
  
She paused, and Brick suddenly felt the weight of her gaze bearing down on him.  
  
“Brick,” she said, her tone just shy of smug. A wave of silence blanketed the room. “Do you have a question you'd like to pose to the class?”  
  
“No.” He looked up, his face expressionless. “I'm afraid not.”  
  
She furrowed her brow in mock curiosity. “Is that so?” was what her mouth said, but her tone was all, “Didn't think so.” She turned away, and the class collectively exhaled.  
  
Brick flared; like _hell_ would he let that slide. “On second thought.”  
  
The breath the class had released was sucked back in. Blossom turned back, her expression grave.  
  
His gaze was steady, challenging.  
  
“What is evil?”  
  
She went still as the rest of the room iced over.  
  
.~.  
  
“ _Butch_!”  
  
Butch snapped to attention and looked to his coach. “What up?”  
  
“Quit watching the girls and get to work on your ballhandling drills!”  
  
“Sorry, coach.” Butch smiled sardonically and immediately went into a butterfly drill, eyes still on the coach, who, after satisfying himself that the boy wasn't going to renege on his apology, wandered off to pick on the rest of the team.  
  
Butch glanced back over at the girls' team, working on their defense. The exchange between him and his coach had caught Buttercup's attention, and she glowered at him before going back to her own drills.  
  
His coach screamed, “Butch, quit showing off and keep your eyes on the ball!”  
  
Suddenly Butch fired his ball off towards the girls, where it collided with their own ball en route to Buttercup's hands.  
  
Buttercup whirled on him as one girl went to retrieve them. “What the hell?!”  
  
“Sorry, coach,” Butch said, shrugging as he grinned at those blazing green eyes. “Thought I had it.”  
  
.~.  
  
The rest of the class sat stiffly at the tables, wishing there were more shadows to retreat to. For having such soft pink eyes, Blossom managed a lot of hard, angry stares.  
  
“You're telling me people are naturally prone to evil?” she said, the edge in her voice sharp enough to draw blood. Brick wasn't fazed.  
  
“You're telling me they're naturally good? Because a handful of you guys do _charity work_?”  
  
“Saving the world is _not_ just _charity work_!”  
  
“You sure you're not just trying to buy your way into a better afterlife?”  
  
“Don't change the subject,” she ordered, her tone carrying the threat of bodily harm in it.  
  
“You brought up 'saving the world,'” Brick shot back.  
  
“You brought up 'charity work,' in a remarkably demeaning tone—”  
  
“Because it's a waste of time,” he growled.  
  
“It is _not_ a waste of time!” Blossom said, raising her voice as her fists shuddered under the weight of her anger. “It's for the greater good! Nothing I would expect _you_ to know about! Why don't you tell me how many lives _you've_ ruined outside of Townsville in all those years you went missing—”  
  
“I didn't go 'missing,'” he snarled, rising from his seat because the intensity of her glare demanded it. “I _left_. You're quick to point fingers, aren't you? What about all the lives you've ruined _in_ Townsville? Criminals have families, too, you self-righteous—”  
  
“That's an unfortunate byproduct of my choice to make a difference in this world! There's no evil intent there!”  
  
His gaze hardened. “People ruin each other's lives all the time, regardless of intent. Sooner or later anyone on the wrong end of your actions is liable to consider you one of the bad guys.”  
  
“I'd say the list of folks on the wrong end of your actions dwarfs mine,” she hissed, “and I'm still for the side of light.”  
  
“Of _course_ you are,” Brick said, his sarcasm evident.  
  
Blossom met it, word for word. “And you, you with your worldly knowledge and your deep, clinical understanding of _everything_ there is to know about _anything_ , you fancy yourself an expert on all of us. Whose side are _you_ on, Brick?”  
  
He set his jaw, his eyes tapering to slits. “You've got some nerve accusing _me_ of being judgmental, Miss 'I know _exactly_ who you are, _Brick_.' Whose side do you _think_ I'm on?”  
  
He watched as her muscles tensed, in sync with his own, when suddenly the final bell rang. There was a frantic scramble, a cloud of dust and papers, and Mrs. Yang blinked.  
  
She looked around; Blossom and Brick were the only students left.  
  
“Good Lord. I've never seen a class clear out that fast in my life.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Again?” Buttercup gawked at the Professor and Bubbles in the kitchen, hard at work on dinner.  
  
“Yep.” Bubbles set the oven timer and turned to face her. “Came home early from dance and went straight for the training room.”  
  
“Actually, if you could clear her out of there, that'd be extremely helpful,” the Professor admitted, slipping out of his apron. “I've got a lot of work to catch up on.” After a second's thought, he warily suggested, “Maybe she could help with dinner...?”  
  
Both Buttercup and Bubbles gave their father a look. Blossom was a talented girl, skilled at a great many things, but she had no gift for cooking whatsoever.  
  
“You remember having to wolf down those Christmas cookies of hers year after year, right, Professor?” Buttercup said dryly. Blossom had done Santa's cookies for every Christmas until they found their father passed out in the fetal position one year by the plate, clutching an empty bottle of Pepto Bismol. For Blossom, the discovery that there was no Santa could not surpass the blow of realizing that her golden touch ceased to exist the second she set foot in any kitchen.  
  
He must've remembered; he was looking a little green. “You have a point.”  
  
“I tried to teach her how to do spaghetti, once,” Bubbles reminisced. Her face clouded over. “It didn't work out.”  
  
“She's really good at setting the table,” Buttercup offered. “And, you know... moving food... to the table... you know what, can we just say she sucks and leave it at that?”  
  
“Do you know what happened today?” the Professor asked.  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles exchanged a glance.  
  
“They just moved Brick to all AP classes,” Bubbles explained.  
  
“What?!” The Professor suddenly had a hunted look in his eyes. “ _Did he ask her out_?!”  
  
“No, Professor,” they both sighed dully.  
  
“They hate each other's guts,” Buttercup elaborated.  
  
“Oh.” The Professor settled down and a slow, idyllic smile broke out over his face. “Excellent.”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick sneezed as he got out of the shower. Showers tended to do Brick a lot of psychological good, often moreso than a training session. It felt good to step out of that bathroom and into fresh clothes, like a sort of therapy for the mind. He felt calmer. Sort of. So long as he wasn't thinking about school, or what city he was in, or that suspicious wench—  
  
He muttered unintelligibly to himself as he toweled off his hair and pulled it into a low ponytail. No reason to undo all the good an hour's worth of training and a good hot shower had done. He knew better than that. As he passed by his desk, he glanced at its surface and paused, considering.  
  
He didn't have to ask about a job. He could just... check in. See how things were going. That wouldn't be out of the ordinary, would it?  
  
Brick reached under the desk and tapped in the combination, and a holographic screen the length of the desk shimmered into existence before him. He sat for the retinal scan and voice recognition, then navigated to his communications console, tapping in Penny's familiar ten digits.  
  
“JS, Incorporated, how may I direct your call?” A young brunette flickered on screen, and her eyes lit up.  
  
“Hi, Penny.” Brick gave a little wave.  
  
“Brick! What are you up to? How are you?”  
  
 _Miserable_. He shrugged. “Doin' alright.”  
  
“Your brothers? How are you guys adjusting? Is high school as fun as I remember it?” she snickered.  
  
“If the look on your face is any indication, I'd say the answer is a definite yes.”  
  
“Aw, honey, it'll get better. So how are classes going? Did you get into Art IV?”  
  
“Yes. Remind me to thank you for making me do a portfolio. It would've killed me to sit and 'learn' perspective and perfect circles and all that shit.”  
  
She grinned. “I told you you'd be bored in a beginner art class.”  
  
“It only helped a little.” He sighed. “The regular classes were _agonizing_. I just got bumped up to the Advanced Placement program.”  
  
“I never would've guessed,” Penny teased, laughing. After a pause, she added, “The guys miss you, you know.”  
  
Brick rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.” With the exception of John Smith himself, the board of directors was not a welcoming group, particularly when it came to Brick from the Special Cases division.  
  
“I wasn't talking about the big guys,” Penny said with an exaggerated sigh. “I was talking about your fellow field agents.”  
  
“How are they?”  
  
She shrugged. “Fine.”  
  
“How are you?”  
  
She smirked. “Fine.”  
  
“And John himself?”  
  
“John's doing fine. Brick, why are you calling?”  
  
“I just wanted to see how things were going!” He held up his hands, pretending to take offense.  
  
Penny laughed and leaned toward the screen. “ _Boomer_ would call to see how things were going. Butch would call—”  
  
“To ask if you had changed your mind about younger guys yet,” Brick interjected.  
  
“ _Not what I was going to say_ ,” Penny said firmly. “And either of them would call only if things weren't going well. And, considering it's been over a month and this is the first call I've gotten from any of you three, I would assume things are going pretty well, at least for the two of them. Seriously, Brick. Is this about a job?”  
  
He sighed and rested his head in his hand. “No. It isn't.” He suddenly perked up. “But if there is—”  
  
“You are on _vacation_ ,” Penny ordered. “You are supposed to be _enjoying_ yourself.”  
  
“What kind of company sends their employees on vacation to _high school_?” Brick countered.  
  
Penny shook her head. “The kind of company that has superpowered teenagers in their employ, Brick. Are your brothers having a good time?”  
  
“They haven't called, have they?”  
  
“So they are.” She smiled. “So why aren't you?”  
  
Brick bit his lip in thought. “Because I'm... not normal, Penny.”  
  
“And your brothers are?” she laughed, incredulous.  
  
“They have an easier time pretending,” he said resolutely.  
  
Penny sighed and studied him a moment.  
  
“Brick. Let me tell you the secret to being normal.”  
  
He made a noise halfway between a whine and a sigh. “I know, I know. One foot in front of the other, and always on the ground, never above their heads.”  
  
“I wasn't referring to your own personal take on it,” she chided. “I'm referring to you, personally. You. Stop thinking so much.”  
  
“Blagh.” He wrinkled his face. “What kind of advice is that?”  
  
“Stop thinking about your future,” Penny continued. “It'll still be here when you get back.”  
  
 _Easy for you to say_ , Brick thought. She had no idea yet.  
  
“But you're never going to get these years back, ever. So enjoy them while you can. Stop thinking. Take a cue from your brothers, they know how to relax.” She suddenly grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Hey. Has Boomer got his girlfriend yet?”  
  
Brick's face clouded over and he sat up. “Did he tell you about that?”  
  
She was laughing again. “He was... you know, kinda excited about the prospect. What about Butch? You know what, never mind. It _must_ be going well for him if he hasn't called me yet.”  
  
“Nobody's hooked up with anyone yet, Penny,” Brick sighed.  
  
“Well, tell me when they do.” She had a mischievous glint in her eye as she appraised Brick. “You could use a girlfriend too, you know.”  
  
“ _That is not funny_ ,” Brick grumbled sourly.  
  
“Yep. You could _definitely_ use one.” She nodded, satisfied.  
  
“You'll know when it happens, then, because Hell's going to get a lot colder,” he muttered, closing the subject.  
  
Her face softened. “Brick, honey. Cheer up.”  
  
“Mmph,” he mumbled, chin in hand again.  
  
She sighed, then looked around. “Hey. Look, I've got news for you that'll bring a little sunshine to your day.”  
  
“Darius suffered a horrible accident and is no longer with the company?” Brick said with false brightness.  
  
“I am sorry to disappoint you by letting you know that Darius is in perfectly good health,” Penny said neutrally. “But Special Cases isn't doing a lot of business right now.”  
  
He squinted at her. “What? How is that good news—”  
  
“Because every client who calls in keeps specifically requesting the Rowdyruff Boys,” Penny clarified, issuing him a pointed look. “With you guys 'on vacation,' everybody's holding off on requesting Special Cases until your return.”  
  
This _was_ good news, but Brick kept his expression guarded. “How do you know?”  
  
She slumped her shoulders and gave him a look. “Brick. I field every fucking call that comes in, seriously. I used to get over ten Special Case requests _each day_. Nowadays? I'm lucky if I get _one_. And when they _do_ call, the first thing out of their mouths is, 'Are Brick and his boys still out?' And when I tell them, they thank me and hang up.”  
  
“Which clients?” Brick prodded, unable to subdue his interest.  
  
“Oh no. You're not getting that out of me,” Penny warned, shaking her head. “Anyway. I gotta get back to work.”  
  
“It's after hours,” Brick pointed out.  
  
She gave him a sly look. “Now, now. You know evil never sleeps, Brick.”  
  
“Ha. Ha.”  
  
“Call me back when you've got a girlfriend,” Penny demanded, and signed off.  
  
.~.  
  
Boomer hummed to himself as he ducked out of the staircase onto their floor. Practice with the band tended to get a bit tedious, what with his... special ability, but he felt he should keep up appearances. He adjusted his guitar as he approached their door—someone was delivering a huge stack of pizzas. He could hear Butch on the other side of it.  
  
“What the fuck did you say I owe, man?”  
  
The delivery boy was shuddering, either under the weight of the boxes or the weight of Butch's glare.  
  
“Um... two hundred and sixteen, sir—”  
  
Boomer nicked the guy's wallet as he came up, excusing himself so he could weasel past into their apartment. “Don't worry, Butch, I got it,” he said lightly. He riffled through the guy's wallet and tugged out some bills. “Here. Keep the change. Oh, and by the way, you dropped this.”  
  
Butch maneuvered the stack away to the kitchen as Boomer handed the delivery boy's wallet back to him.  
  
“Oh, thanks—”  
  
Boomer kicked the door shut and zipped to the kitchen, snatching a box off the top.  
  
“Any of these got pineapple on 'em?”  
  
“No, because only pussies put fruit on a fucking pizza,” Butch said coldly. “Grow some taste buds.”  
  
“Hey, where's Brick?”  
  
“Kicked the training room's ass again, then went to clean up.”  
  
Boomer gave his brother a concerned glance. “Again?”  
  
“Again,” Brick announced, opening his door. “Hey. Penny says, 'Hi.'”  
  
Butch brightened. “You talked to Penny? How's that pretty little picture doing?”  
  
“She wants to know if either of you have got a girlfriend yet,” Brick said, digging through the boxes. “Do any of these have pineapple on them?”  
  
“What are you, some kind of pussy?” Boomer joked, and Brick smacked him in the forehead.  
  
“Tell Penny I'm working on it,” Butch said. “Actually, just tell her to Google 'Blossom' and then let me know what she thinks—”  
  
“Don't mention that name in my presence,” Brick growled, settling on pepperoni. “I've had a bad enough day as it is.”  
  
“You should've called her after dinner,” Boomer said through a mouthful of pizza. “You might have been able to tell her 'yes' for me.”  
  
Brick and Butch looked up. “What?”  
  
Boomer gathered up three boxes and headed for his room. “I'll tell you all about it when I'm off the phone.” He shouldered his door shut, and Butch turned to their leader, gaping.  
  
“Are you fucking serious?” he said in an undertone. “First he's the most popular kid in the fucking school, and now he's the first one of us to get a girlfriend? Are you fucking _serious_?”  
  
“Leave him be,” Brick said, unconcerned.  
  
“This is _Boomer_ we're talking about! Mr. What Was My Mission Again, Oh Yeah, It's—”  
  
Brick gave Butch a sharp look. “How many fucking buildings has _Boomer_ blown up?”  
  
Butch slumped his shoulders. “Dude. Not fair. Those were, like, ages old—”  
  
“Let him have his fun,” Brick said dismissively. “If anyone deserves to enjoy this dumb vacation, it's him.”  
  
Butch scoffed. “Everybody just _loves_ the fucking runt of the litter. If I'd known that all there was to getting tail was to stand up in front of people and pull a few strings and make some mouth noise, I'd be a fucking god by now.”  
  
“We're already gods,” Brick corrected. “It's the teenager part you need to work on. Don't you pay attention to anything?”  
  
The door to Boomer's room suddenly burst open and a bright blue streak went bouncing through the room.  
  
“Call Penny up! Tell her I've got a girlfriend! And right in time for Valentine's Day, whoo!”  
  
“What?” Brick cried.  
  
“ _What_?!” Butch clamored. “How can you have a girlfriend after one phone call?”  
  
The blue streak screeched to a stop in front of them both, and a beaming Boomer pretended to rake a hand through his hair.  
  
“Because I'm just that awesome, brother.” He extended a palm to Butch. “Hey. Feel free to call me up if you need any pointers, man—”  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Butch snapped.  
  
“You know there's a difference between one date and a girlfriend,” Brick said suspiciously.  
  
This did nothing to deter Boomer's mood. “Right, I forgot! You're the dude who wrote the book on picking up girls.” Boomer snapped and winked. “Chapter five. I was right there with you, man.”  
  
Brick narrowed his eyes. “You know what, I'm with Butch. Fuck off.”  
  
“Maybe later. Right now, I've got a date. With a girlfriend. My girlfriend. That's awesome, right? Yeah, it's awesome. Dating my girlfriend. Enjoy the sausage-fest, guys!”  
  
And with that, Boomer spun out of the apartment, whooping as he bulleted away. Butch and Brick only stared.  
  
.~.  
  
“Haley is cute,” Bubbles commented as she watched Boomer and Haley enter the cafeteria, holding hands.  
  
Kim planted her elbows on the table and sighed wistfully. “Boomer's pretty cute, himself. Why couldn't he have walked into the choir hall and fallen in love with me instead?”  
  
“You're saying he would've been able to pick your voice out of the many in a crowded room?” Mary said dryly, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Why not? He's got superhearing, right?” Kim turned to Bubbles. “Does he?”  
  
“We all do,” Bubbles answered, frowning playfully at Kim. “You're lucky Bobby doesn't, though.”  
  
“Me and Bobby have a very open relationship,” Kim said practically.  
  
Bubbles smiled and looked around the cafeteria. She spotted Mike a couple of tables away, surrounded by fellow athletes and cheerleaders, and waved at him.  
  
Mary leaned over. “How come you're not sitting with the football team today?”  
  
Bubbles sucked in her lower lip. “It's not—I dunno. The girls are acting all weird. They like... all they ever talk about is cheer, and that's okay, but I dunno, I feel... weird. Like a little left out, you know?”  
  
“That's bitchy.” Kim wrinkled her nose.  
  
“It's not! They just... they really like it,” Bubbles said defensively.  
  
“How much you wanna bet they're doing it just because they resent you for leaving the squad?”  
  
“Kim, no. These girls are my friends.”  
  
“Look, we didn't say this before because we were afraid of hurting your feelings, Bubbles, but Kim's right. Your friends on the cheer squad are kinda bitches,” Mary affirmed, nodding apologetically.  
  
“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Bubbles announced, picking at her food.  
  
Kim shrugged. “Fair enough. Hey. You want to go karaoke with us? That place with all the individual rooms downtown is having a half-off special next weekend. You should totally come.”  
  
Bubbles beamed. “I totally will. It sounds like fun!”  
  
“Bring Will this time,” Kim urged. “There's no game that weekend, so he should be able to make it, right?”  
  
“Oh... I'll ask,” Bubbles said. Shoot. Will hated to sing. Maybe if she asked really, really nicely...  
  
“They're pretty cozy,” Kim said petulantly, squinting at Boomer and Haley. “They've only been dating, like, a week.”  
  
Bubbles looked over her shoulder at them and grinned. It was kind of adorable; she and Will had been an affectionate couple from the get-go and had narrowly avoided getting slapped with detentions for PDA several times over the course of their relationship.  
  
“Yeah,” she said, smiling as she watched Haley giggle and run her hands through Boomer's hair. “I guess they really like each other.”  
  
.~.  
  
The way their schedules worked out, Buttercup had the later lunch period every other day. She actually shared this with Butch, Blossom, and Brick, but on these days Blossom usually took her lunch to the studio, while Brick spent it either in the library or outside. Blossom didn't know that Buttercup let him, but frankly, Buttercup had better things to do than shepherd the boys in one place. Besides, she had her hands full with Butch.  
  
Since Brick had moved out of the regular classes, Butch seemed exceptionally keen on giving her grief. She wasn't sure if it was because his brother was gone, or if she was just noticing it more than usual, but whatever it was, it was really starting to piss her off. It wasn't enough that he had replaced her in her former circle of friends. Now it was like he was... trying to get her attention or something, jeering at her in Basketball, asking her how Blossom was doing before class started. It was all she could do to keep from punching his fucking lights out during the school day.  
  
She glared at him, seated between the twins at her old table and laughing, while a few of the girls on the team chatted about their upcoming game.  
  
“What about you, Buttercup?” one of them suddenly asked, breaking her concentration.  
  
Buttercup blinked and looked to her teammate. “Huh? Say again?”  
  
“I was just wondering—”  
  
Something wet suddenly smacked Buttercup in the side of her head, and the girls gasped. Buttercup swiped at it—fuck, it was all in her hair—what the fuck was this shit—mashed potatoes?  
  
Her jaw dropped and she looked up, spotting a grinning Butch still holding the spoon that had catapulted his food. The twins looked horrified.  
  
“Buttercup?” One of her teammates reached a tentative hand out. “Are you o—”  
  
Buttercup stood in a flash and sent the contents of her lunch flying across the room. Butch instantly dodged it and jumped to his feet as the unlucky students that had been seated behind him shrieked. He snatched a can of soda from a stricken Floyd's hand and quickly shook it up before aiming the can at her and pulling the tab.  
  
The spray exploded across three rows of tables and the room burst into screams. Buttercup grimaced and grabbed her teammates' lunches by the armload, firing everything at breakneck speed in Butch's direction.  
  
The cafeteria erupted.  
  
.~.  
  
Ms. Keane's forehead was flat on her desk.  
  
“I do not understand.”  
  
“He started it,” a sopping, food-stained Buttercup said instantly, pointing.  
  
“She retaliated,” an equally sopping, food-stained Butch retorted.  
  
“Save me your excuses, I beg you,” Ms. Keane moaned, sitting up and covering her face with her hands. “You don't—oh my God, do you have any idea, the cafeteria is a _mess_ —” Her hands drifted up into her hair and she clutched at it. “ _Urgh_. That's—you two? You two are going to spend your free period cleaning that up. You are, I am not kidding. _Without_ your powers!”  
  
“What? You can't be serious!”  
  
“No way! That's going to take us forever—”  
  
“How else are you going to learn your lesson?!” Ms. Keane beseeched them. “The cafeteria's a _mess_! As are the hallways and the classrooms, because half the student body is walking around coated in _food_!”  
  
“Ms. Keane—” Buttercup started, but was silenced by a hand.  
  
“You are not whining your way out of this one, Buttercup,” Ms. Keane warned, her eyes set.  
  
“I'm not whining!” Buttercup cried, offended. Butch snickered next to her and she punched him in the neck.  
  
“ _Ow_! You little—”  
  
“You two are _not_ starting that business here!” their Principal yelled, and Buttercup and Butch lowered their fists, glaring at each other. “I'm not putting up with this, and you know what? Neither is the rest of the school. You both are banned from your next game.”  
  
Two sets of green eyes widened in shock.  
  
“Wha—no! It's my first game!” Butch argued.  
  
“You said I was the star athlete of the school! You can't make me miss this!” Buttercup protested.  
  
“I don't care how many trophies you two win,” Principal Keane seethed. “You are _not_ going to carry on like this. If something similar happens again, consider yourselves dropped from any and all athletic activities for the _rest of the semester_! Now get out of my office and go clean up that mess!”

.~.

“Please,” Blossom said in a thin, strangled voice, “please, _please_ tell me this has nothing to do with you.”  
  
Buttercup looked up from her scrubbing of the empty cafeteria floor and said levelly, “He started it.”  
  
Her sister groaned and buried her head in her hands. She'd been bound to find out sooner or later. A good forty percent of the school had been present for the foodfight.  
  
“Which one started it?” Blossom said, dropping her hands.  
  
Buttercup scoffed, “Who else? Butch.”  
  
“And Brick did _nothing_?”  
  
“Brick wasn't there.”  
  
The silence that met her response was tense, and Buttercup froze, suddenly aware of her slip.  
  
“I mean—”  
  
“What do you _mean_ , 'He wasn't there?!' Weren't you _watching him_?!”  
  
Buttercup bit her lip and scrubbed harder, refusing to look at her sister. “Look, he hasn't been doing anything, all he usually does is go to the library or something—”  
  
“Buttercup! How... how could you? All I asked you to do was _watch them_ —”  
  
“Me?!” Buttercup was suddenly on her feet, glaring at her sister. Where did she get off, when _she_ was the one spending her lunch in the studio, when _she_ was the Golden Child, when _she_ wasn't the one who'd been exiled by her friends only to have them welcome that bastard into their God damn circle! She had no right, _no fucking right_.  
  
“What about _you_?!” Buttercup demanded, livid. “What about you taking some fucking responsibility—”  
  
“ _Buttercup_ ,” Blossom said, her tone sharp—  
  
“ _No_! For the past month you've done nothing but bitch and moan and you keep telling me and Bubbles to 'keep an eye on them' while you go off to all your stupid advanced classes and your dance practices and even when you've got the same _lunch_ as me you leave me on guard duty for _both of them_!” Buttercup hissed, gesturing wildly at the messy cafeteria. “You get _one_ guy, _one guy_ switched over to all your classes because _you_ want to 'keep an eye on them,' and suddenly you're the fucking victim, you're _sooooo_ upset, never mind that Bubbles and I have been doing it for the past _month_ and your guy isn't the one starting food fights in the fucking—”  
  
“That's _enough_ ,” Blossom interrupted, but there was guilt in those eyes, and Buttercup sucked in a breath, trying to calm down. After a second more of silence, she knelt and resumed scrubbing at the tile.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Blossom said quietly, and Buttercup felt a hand on her shoulder.  
  
She might have been sorry, but it didn't necessarily make Buttercup feel that much less angry.  
  
She shrugged off her sister's hand and grumbled, “Yeah. Whatever. Don't you have a class to get to?”  
  
She could feel Blossom lingering, probably debating whether to tell Buttercup off for her attitude or let her be. To Buttercup's immense relief, she went with the latter.  
  
“I'll see you at home,” Blossom said, then added, “If he acts up again, though, please... just, ignore him, okay?”  
  
She grunted something akin to assent. Blossom waited a second more, then took off, seconds before the late bell rang. Buttercup sighed, relishing the faintness of her solitary breath echoing in the cafeteria.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick stared at Butch, seated against the wall of the hallway, a mop discarded nearby. “What?”  
  
“There was a foodfight.” His brother waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the cafeteria.  
  
“I gathered.” The stench of school food hung everywhere. “I also gather it's your damn fault.”  
  
Butch shrugged. “You surprised?”  
  
“You rarely surprise me.” Brick wandered over and kicked the mop. “You're not doing a very good job of cleaning it up.”  
  
“I'm taking a break. By the way, you got any pot?”  
  
“Don't joke. What the fuck are you doing, starting foodfights in the fucking school?”  
  
“Bored.” Butch simulated a drag on a joint and exhaled slowly, a lazy smile lighting his face.  
  
“You wouldn't have started it if I'd been there,” Brick said quietly, scrutinizing him.  
  
“I don't know, bro, I mean, you hold a lot of sway and all, but I got a lot of pent up energy, you never know when I'll just go off and do something crazy—”  
  
Brick was suddenly in his face, forcing his back to the wall. Butch shut up and stared at him, his smile fading. There was the faintest glow in those red eyes, never a good sign, and they narrowed as they bored into him.  
  
“You are up to something,” Brick said, his voice low and dangerous. “And you better fucking stop it.”  
  
Butch gave his brother a grin. “Or you'll ground me?”  
  
“Seriously.” Brick smacked him in the head as he stood. “You want to fucking piss me off?”  
  
“Why bother? You're doing fine on your own these days,” Butch responded, rubbing at his head.  
  
A streak of pink suddenly flew across the opposite end of the hall, and Brick looked up.  
  
“Shit. Class.”  
  
He took off, leaving Butch alone in the hall. He sat back with a devious grin, once again lifting a hand to his lips and taking a protracted drag on an imaginary joint.  
  
.~.  
  
“Bubbles, I owe you an apology,” Blossom said, and her sister looked up. The two of them were alone in their room; Buttercup was downstairs helping the Professor with the dishes.  
  
Bubbles looked up, bewildered. “What for?”  
  
“Buttercup pointed out that you guys... well, shouldered a lot of responsibility for the boys last month, and I wasn't really... you know, good about taking on my share of that.”  
  
“It's okay.” Bubbles shrugged and went back to her homework. “I mean, you're certainly getting your share of it now, and Brick's kind of a hard person to get along with—”  
  
“I don't have to get along with him, I just have to watch him,” Blossom said firmly. “Why on Earth would I want to get along with that... that stuck-up, egotistical—”  
  
“You know, he's really not that bad,” Bubbles said innocently, and Blossom stared at her.  
  
“Okay, Bubbles? I know you have exceptional people skills and all, but how could you possibly reach that sort of conclusion with someone as difficult as _him_?”  
  
“He's just quiet and... okay, he's kind of mean, but only if you... you know, try to, um, talk to him...”  
  
Blossom gave her a wry look. “You're not really selling your point here.”  
  
“That's not how I know, anyway,” Bubbles said, shaking her head.  
  
“So how _do_ you know he's 'not that bad?'”  
  
“Because I've seen his art,” Bubbles said, smiling at something Blossom couldn't see. “And anyone who draws like _that_ couldn't possibly be _all_ that bad.”  
  
Blossom sighed. “Bubbles, you're so naive—”  
  
The phone suddenly rang, and they both paused, waiting to see if it was for their father—the Professor was getting a lot of phone calls these days regarding the development on the citywide defense system. It stopped after a couple of rings, and after a pause, Buttercup's voice echoed up the stairs.  
  
“Blossom! It's for you!”  
  
“I wonder which boy it is this time,” Bubbles laughed, and Blossom swatted at her as she reached for the phone.  
  
“Hello, Blossom speaking,” she said into the mouthpiece, waving Bubbles away as she attempted to eavesdrop. Her eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh! Mrs. Morbucks? Um, to what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
.~.  
  
It was a sunny and oddly warm Saturday for February, perfect flying weather. Perfect Valentine's Day weather too; back at home Bubbles had been ecstatic and was probably still in the process of re-working her outfit for her lunch date with Will. Blossom had other plans.  
  
She landed at the front gate of Morbucks Manor, feeling it would be rude of her to fly over it to the front door. That presented her with a wholly different dilemma, as she had no clue how to work the intercom.  
  
She squinted. There was a keypad, and something resembling a button next to the little black screen—  
  
“What are _you_ doing here?” a gruff voice behind her demanded, and she jumped, whirling around. She returned Brick's scowl instantly.  
  
“I could ask you the same thing. I was invited—”  
  
“So was I.”  
  
A spiteful moment passed between them.  
  
He inclined his head toward the intercom and said, “Well? What are you waiting for?”  
  
She huffed and turned back to it, reaching for the thing that might have been a button, but then hesitated. Maybe that wasn't it? Maybe she had to hit a number first or something?  
  
There was an irritated sigh behind her, and Brick reached around, stabbing the button-that-apparently-was-a-button, and within seconds an image flickered to life on the screen. Mrs. Morbucks beamed at them.  
  
“Ah! Happy Valentine's Day! I was wondering when you two would show up. Thank you for not flying over the gate, Princess has some ridiculous missile system that goes off if so much as a bird flies over and I haven't quite worked out how to disarm it. Come in, come in—”  
  
The gates swung open, and the both of them floated up the massive drive to the front doors, keeping their distance from each other. Mrs. Morbucks was already framed in the entrance, waving them in.  
  
Blossom ignored the company and smiled at their hostess.  
  
“Hello, Mrs. Morbucks. It's a pleasure to actually meet you. Bubbles told me about your first encounter. Do you miss France?”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks waved off the question as she shut the doors and beckoned them to follow her through the foyer, away from the grand room the party had taken place in.  
  
“Oh, France is home, so of course I miss it. After the business with Princess' father, though, I felt it necessary to stay and... clear the family name.” She frowned. “The Morbucks were a very prestigious family. Princess' father is a bit of a bad egg, I'm afraid. No talent for business, not to mention he goes through money like a fish through water. I've spent most of my married life cleaning up his messes.”  
  
“That's terrible,” Blossom remarked, frowning.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks shrugged and waved them into what appeared to be a study with a large mahogany conference table in it.  
  
“I suppose it is.” She flashed Blossom a wry smile as they sat. “But I'm _very good_ at what I do.”  
  
Brick finally spoke up, watching as Mrs. Morbucks took a seat across from them. “What exactly is it that you do, if you don't mind me asking?”  
  
“Manage our properties, the family assets, that sort of thing. Philanthropy, too, I'm very big on that. Have to be, with my husband's history—easiest way to keep the Morbucks name clean, though don't get me wrong, I do enjoy it. I swear, I don't know _how_ he's been raising Princess. I knew I should've kept that girl in France in the first place.” The woman had a dark look on her face as she spoke, and Blossom was tempted to ask exactly how such a woman had gotten together with Princess' father in the first place.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks suddenly brightened, though, and turned to her guests. “I'm sorry, can I get you any refreshments? A drink, perhaps?”  
  
Both Brick and Blossom shook their heads no.  
  
“Not that I'm in a hurry or anything,” Brick said, “but what exactly did you call me here for?”  
  
“I was wondering the same,” Blossom added. “Your call came as a bit of a surprise—”  
  
The woman across from them clapped her hands together, grinning madly.  
  
“Ah. Yes. Well, of course, I mentioned I'll be staying here to clear the family name and all, and I also mentioned I'm a bit of a philanthropist, and also—this is something you'll soon learn about me—I adore planning events. And I think Townsville could use more of them.”  
  
Blossom shifted forward in her seat. “Events? Of what sort?”  
  
“Primarily events for charity, raising money for a cause, the like. I know a wide circle of people who wouldn't hesitate to come out here if I were to throw a special dinner or fundraiser. Might as well put this... opulent manor to use, anyway. Of course Townsville's no New York or San Francisco, but it's really not a bad city, and besides, it's certainly very famous for one thing in particular.” She issued a significant look at Blossom, who smiled as humbly as she could. Next to her, Brick rolled his eyes and tilted his head in the other direction.  
  
“So,” Blossom said slowly, “how exactly do, um, _we_ fit in with your plans?”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks smiled and her eyes drifted to Brick. “Well. It all started when I saw this boy dance.”  
  
Brick looked at her while Blossom stifled a distasteful little noise. “You saw me? At the party?”  
  
“The party refreshed my memory. I'd seen you before, about... two years ago, I guess?”  
  
Blossom had an even tougher time stifling her shock. “Two—two _years_?” She turned to Brick. “Do you two know each other?”  
  
“I hadn't formally met him until now,” Mrs. Morbucks clarified. “And I only recognized who you were just last week. Before, I only knew you as a certain young lady's dance partner—”  
  
Brick's eyes imperceptibly widened. Mrs. Morbucks grinned.  
  
“You were good then, but you've gotten even better now. She couldn't have asked for a better partner, you know. Her father was ready to throw in the towel, but she absolutely insisted on dancing—”  
  
“So that's how you know,” Blossom said, furrowing her brow. “There was a girl.”  
  
“It wasn't only the girl,” Brick said gruffly. “Anyway, so you recognized me. So what are we doing here?”  
  
“You know, I'm going to have a coffee,” Mrs. Morbucks announced, pulling a phone over and paging someone for her drink. “Are you two sure you don't want anything? No? Just a coffee for me, then. After I realized who Brick was, and being the fan of the arts that I am, I thought, well, what better than to throw a charity event where the city's youth talent provides a bit of the entertainment? Dancing is very much a crowd pleaser for events like these. I couldn't very well have him dancing alone, though; that's impractical for the type of benefit I do, so I asked Mrs. Olson about finding Brick a suitable partner.”  
  
Brick and Blossom both figured out at exactly the same time where this was going.  
  
“You are kidding me.” Brick gaped, incredulous.  
  
“She had a library of Townsville High's Dance Company performances, Blossom, and you just go out there and set that stage on fire in every one of yours,” Mrs. Morbucks said with a grin. “Plus she said you're one of the two girls trained in ballroom. I thought it had to be a sign.”  
  
“You’re serious,” Blossom said slowly. “You… seriously expect us to work together?”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks gave a careless wave of her hand. “I don’t see why not.”  
  
“Call it a conflict of interest,” Brick responded, glancing at Blossom with disdain. “In that there _isn’t_ any.” She shot him a dirty look.  
  
“Now, now, don't be so quick to dismiss it, you two,” Mrs. Morbucks said soothingly. “There are certain incentives to participating that you might well be interested in.” She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a folded slip of paper, sliding it across the table to Blossom. “Take a look at this, my dear.”  
  
Blossom eyed it warily before she picked it up. She blinked.  
  
“A check?” Her eyes widened as they drifted to the amount scribbled on the line, and she gasped. “This... this is a lot of money,” Blossom said in a small voice.  
  
“It's all yours to do with what you will,” Mrs. Morbucks said, beaming at the servant that appeared with her coffee. “Shopping, maybe. A family vacation? I know you do a lot of volunteer work, yourself—you could donate it to your favorite charity. Oh, and I'll be donating twice that amount to Townsville High's Fine Arts department.”  
  
“ _Twice_ this amount?!” Blossom cried in shock, feeling her heart stopping.  
  
“Mrs. Olson asked that I implore you to consider it.” Mrs. Morbucks sipped at her coffee, a hint of smugness in her expertly composed face. “So consider this me imploring you to consider it.”  
  
The girl bit her lip, struggling with the decision. It was a lot of money. It would do someone—a lot of people—so much good. And Townsville High's Fine Arts department didn't receive nearly the funding or support that the Athletics department did... she could help not only the Dance Company, but Choir, Theater, Band, and Orchestra...  
  
“How can I not?” she said quietly, then darted a glance at Brick. Her gaze narrowed as she met his cold eyes, reminded of the one large drawback were she to accept Mrs. Morbucks' offer. Well. Sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks was beside herself. “Splendid! Now, Brick—”  
  
“I don't need the money,” he said abruptly, shaking his head.  
  
Blossom rolled her eyes. “You don't even know what number is written on this check—”  
  
“It doesn't matter,” he interrupted, giving her a sharp look. “I _don't_ need the money.”  
  
“Oh, I'm well aware, my boy. I wasn't going to offer you money,” Mrs. Morbucks said with a shrug. “John Smith tells me you’re a fan of cars.”  
  
Brick suddenly went very still, the only movement being the flick of his eyes to Mrs. Morbucks' as she sipped at her coffee.  
  
“You know Smith,” he said quietly.  
  
Blossom latched onto the name, filed it away in her mind.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks allowed herself a very small smile. “That I do. How is he doing these days?”  
  
Brick scrutinized the woman, who appeared completely unfazed. “He does.”  
  
“Might I ask who Smith is?” Blossom interrupted, attention concentrated on Brick’s face in an attempt to read his expression. There wasn’t the slightest change; he kept his own eyes riveted to the woman seated across from them.  
  
She turned her attention to Blossom and gave her a warm smile. “Certainly. John Smith is this young man’s employ—”  
  
“Benefactor,” Brick cut her off abruptly, shifting in his seat. Mrs. Morbucks looked amused.  
  
“Straightened you out with money, did he?” Blossom said quietly, throwing him a suspicious look.   
  
“I owe a lot to him,” he responded cryptically. He shot Blossom a sidelong glance. “As do you, taking into consideration that if it hadn’t been for him, this conversation would likely involve me trying to rip out your throat.”  
  
“Ah, such chemistry!” Mrs. Morbucks clapped her hands once, drawing both their attentions. “This sort of thing translates _fabulously_ on the dance floor.”  
  
“I beg to differ—” The two of them started to speak at the same time, then halted to exchange glares, irritated at having similar opinions.  
  
“I’m not dancing with her,” Brick said, not bothering to mask the revulsion on his face.  
  
“I wouldn’t enjoy it, not in a million years, but would do it anyway because _I’m a better person_ ,” Blossom said haughtily.  
  
“Brick,” Mrs. Morbucks sighed, “you _completely_ missed the point of me even bringing up Smith—”  
  
“I did not,” he contended. “There is no vehicle I haven’t been in that could even _remotely_ warrant me appearing with this—” He jerked his head in Blossom’s direction as he began to stand— “for any charitable effort. Now excuse me. I'm afraid it's time for me to leave.”  
  
“Really?” she said evenly, examining her coffee cup. “Surely, though, you’ve been keeping up with what Nikola Motors has been working on—”  
  
He froze mid-turn.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks was the Queen of Smug, Blossom noted as she took in the woman’s self-satisfied demeanor. She’d never even _heard_ of such a car company.  
  
“They’ve been working on a number of projects,” Brick said slowly, not allowing himself to jump to conclusions.  
  
“And one of those projects just went on the market—”  
  
“Yesterday,” he said, voice soft.  
  
“Mm hmm,” Mrs. Morbucks responded, her own voice deep and rich like honey. Deep, rich, victorious honey. She slipped a folder from the chair next to her to the table and pushed it across the polished mahogany to Brick’s empty seat. He stared. Blossom was sorely tempted to open it herself.  
  
“The Coil, which, as you pointed out, just went on the market not twenty-four hours ago,” Mrs. Morbucks elaborated as he reached for the folder and opened it. Blossom could’ve sworn she saw Brick shiver as his eyes settled on its contents. “They’ve only manufactured a very limited amount of these—”  
  
“One hundred,” he said dimly, eyes glazed and faraway. “Only one hundred.”  
  
“And you’re looking at one that’s already been purchased in your name.”  
  
His attention snapped back to her.  
  
“M-my name? This… this is mine. You’re serious. Are you serious?”  
  
“Number seventeen of the One Hundred Series.” Mrs. Morbucks shrugged. “I would’ve tried for one of the first ten if I’d anticipated your lack of enthusiasm earlier. There’s already a waiting list for the Two Hundred Series. Of course,” she added, “I’ll only officially turn it over to you once the Charity performance is over.”  
  
He dropped the folder on the table and brought his hands to his head, turning and sucking in a breath. Blossom peeked at the photo, curious. It looked like any regular sports car, shiny and deep red, admittedly sleeker and sexier than most sports cars she’d taken note of in her life, but she couldn’t understand what was sending Brick into such a spell.  
  
She sat back, rolling her eyes as Brick turned and hastily picked up the photo again. Boys were so impossibly stupid sometimes. It was somewhat gratifying to discover that Brick, for all his supposed “brilliance,” was no exception.  
  
.~.  
  
“Okay. I am having a hard time wrapping my head around this,” Buttercup said, her voice muffled as she covered her face with her hands. “You hate him.”  
  
Blossom could feel the Professor's eyes drilling holes into her brain as he stared at her, so she addressed him when she vehemently stated, “Absolutely, positively, unquestionably hate him.”  
  
The Professor's gaze lessened very slightly in intensity and he resumed eating his dinner, while Buttercup lifted her head out of her hands and issued her sister a look.  
  
“And yet you agreed.”  
  
“The woman is offering me a large sum of money that I plan on splitting between a few charities, as well as some significant financial aid to the school's struggling fine arts department.” Blossom lifted her chin. “Being in the athletics department, I don't imagine you would understand what it's like to not have enough money for new uniforms, or functioning gym equipment, or—”  
  
“Who wants more salad?” Bubbles interjected, shoving the bowl between her sisters. “Mrs. Morbucks is really sweet to do that. We could use new choir dresses. I had to take mine in from a size sixteen and it _still_ doesn't fit.” She looked at Blossom and said in a conspiratorial voice, “What _really_ surprises me is that _he_ said yes.”  
  
Blossom found herself unable to keep the haughtiness from her expression. “As with any other boy, all she had to do was wave some shiny car in front of him and he was all—”  
  
“She gave him a _car_?” Buttercup was suddenly brimming with jealousy. “What kind?”  
  
Blossom pursed her lips, trying to remember. “Something like... Curl, or Coil—”  
  
“ _Huarck_!” The Professor was suddenly gagging, his eyes as big as Buttercup's as he tried to focus on Blossom.  
  
“A _Coil_?!” Buttercup shrieked. Bubbles leapt to her feet and began to perform the Heimlich on their father. “She got him a _Coil_?!”  
  
A cherry tomato went flying out of the Professor's throat and across the room. He wheezed for breath and gripped the edge of the table, eyes wild and searching Blossom.  
  
“ _Are you positive?! Are you serious_?!” he gasped.  
  
Blossom's eyes darted frantically between the two crazed family members at the table. “That's... that's what she said—”  
  
“That thing's worth more than this _house_!” the Professor cried.  
  
“It does like zero to eighty in five seconds!” Buttercup squeaked.  
  
“State-of-the-art automotive engineering—”  
  
“Motor gets 14,000 rpm—”  
  
Their father and sister spent the next five minutes spitting out phrases neither Blossom nor Bubbles understood, like powertrain and chassis and shift quality and a plethora of other car gibberish. Bubbles' eyes started to glaze over at minute two.  
  
“I don't blame him,” Buttercup said finally, catching her breath. “I'd give up meat for the rest of my _life_ if someone offered me a Nikola Coil.” She saw Bubbles suddenly perk up and threw her a warning look. “Don't take that as an invitation, vegan hippie. You'd be, like, _eighty_ before you could even come _close_ to having enough money to bribe me with one of those. Man, Brick is one lucky son of a—” At the sharp look the Professor and Blossom issued in her direction, Buttercup caught herself and hastily amended, “Guy. Lucky guy.” She considered a moment. “He'll probably hate himself five minutes into your first practice together, but for a car like that... man...”  
  
Blossom sighed inwardly but tried to appear blasé. She shrugged.  
  
“Everyone's got a weak spot. Even those of us with superpowers.” She glanced at everyone's mostly empty plates. “Well, I'm done eating. Can I take anyone else's dish to the sink?”  
  
After setting up the dishwasher and wiping the table, Blossom wandered upstairs, shaking her head at her family's invitation to join them on the couch for a movie. She shut the door to their bedroom, a distracted frown on her face. The more she thought about it, the more she fretted. Brick danced well—like her. He was smart—like her. And, she reluctantly admitted to herself, he was just as stubborn as she was. These shared traits were a peculiar coincidence...  
  
She took a deep breath and started for the window, grabbing a jacket on the way. It had been years since the girls had seen Him—stupid of it to hit her only now, that the boys' disappearance and Him's disappearance not long after could be related. The day's warmth had disappeared, leaving a cold, biting wind in its place, and Blossom shivered as she slipped through the window and buttoned her coat all the way up to the neck.  
  
.~.  
  
“I hate you.” Butch's voice was muffled behind a couch pillow.  
  
“Uh huh.” Brick picked at his Chinese takeout disinterestedly.  
  
Butch tossed the pillow off and gave their leader a beseeching look.  
  
“Can I ask you, like, one favor? Like _one_? As a brother? If you could cop a feel for me or something, I mean, your hands are going to be on her—”  
  
Brick cringed in disgust. “Christ, don't remind me.”  
  
“ _As a brother_ ,” Butch said fervently. “Just do it, and tell me what it's like, I beg you—”  
  
“I don't remember owing you any favors,” Brick snapped. “If you're so hot about her, why don't you—”  
  
Suddenly he stopped, his eyes widening and head snapping up. He slowly lowered his food, biting his lip. It was a weird sensation, one he hadn't felt since the year after he and his brothers had first left Townsville. It had flared up less frequently in the years after, and only as a very slight... tingle. He couldn't quite describe it. Now, however, it was intense—crazy intense, every part of his body could sense there was someone out there, trying to find Him. And, judging from the way Brick's body was reacting, whoever it was was on a serious mission.  
  
“Hey.” Butch was sitting up on the couch, staring. “Dude. What's wrong?”  
  
Brick shook his head and started for his room.  
  
“No... nothing. Sorry, I'm just going to duck out for some air.”  
  
“Brick?”  
  
“I'm good,” he assured, and shut his door. He stepped to his window and frowned. Proximity had nothing to do with the intensity of the feeling; rather, it was the strength of the person's desire to find Him that Brick reacted to. Whoever it was, they were out of luck. Him hadn't been around for a long while.  
  
Not that he was trying to pat himself on the back or anything, but Brick always suspected Him's disappearance had to do with the boys' departure. Their surrogate Father had not reacted well to Brick winning their freedom from Him, not least of all because it had permanently tied Brick to Him on this sort of level, and the Devil was one to keep secrets.  
  
Brick opened his window, wincing against the cold burst of air that rushed in to greet him. He didn't seriously think he would find whoever it was, but something wanted to carry him out into that air, just because, just in case—  
  
His phone suddenly went off, and he gave it an offending glare. Once he spotted the caller ID, though, he dropped the expression and shut the window.  
  
“Mrs. Morbucks?” he ventured cautiously after he tapped the speakerphone button.  
  
“Yes, Brick. Please transfer me to the videocam, if you would.”  
  
He bit his lip and darted a glance at his desk. “I don't have—”  
  
“Oh, come on, my boy, there's no need to pretend with me. Get me up on screen. I'd rather talk with you face to face.”  
  
Brick suppressed a sigh and transferred the signal to his video display. Mrs. Morbucks' image flitted onscreen, and she smiled. “That's better.”  
  
Brick darted one last glance at his window—the sensation was still strong, but a little less intense than before—and he nodded politely at Mrs. Morbucks.  
  
“So, what can I do for you?”  
  
“Well, my boy, I was recently going through the guest list for next month's charity event—”  
  
Brick's eyes widened and he unintentionally interrupted, “Next month? Is that enough time for you to prepare?”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks scoffed. “Plenty. I throw these things all the time; your choreographer is back from his vacation just in time to start practice on Monday. Anyway, I happened to receive a phone call from an old friend of mine, and we got to talking...”  
  
Brick fidgeted, resisting the urge to ask her to get to the point. What did he care about two old, rich people connecting over—  
  
“I believe you're familiar with him—Reccardi?”  
  
Thoughts of further investigating the tingle his Him Sense was emitting dropped out of Brick's mind like dead weights.  
  
“Reccardi? Reccardi's attending?”  
  
“Indeed he is. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?”  
  
The gears in Brick's head were going haywire. Reccardi was a highly coveted client. JS, Inc. had fought for years for his business, and as it was, he had no favorite in the market, but if Brick met him, if he could only speak to him, he might be able to sway him...  
  
“I'll tell you right off the bat, Brick,” Mrs. Morbucks interrupted his plotting, “that names rarely impress him, and Reccardi isn't likely to meet with you just based on your ties to Smith's company, so might I suggest you put on something like a... performance piece? After all, he is quite the fan of the arts—”  
  
“Painting,” Brick interrupted, the gears still turning. “He's an art collector, I'm familiar with his catalogue.” He bit his lip, thinking. “If I had a partner who could improvise, I could paint as she danced...”  
  
“Oh, good! I was thinking I might call you and Blossom to the Manor again—”  
  
“What?” Brick snapped out of his reverie and tried not to look too affronted at the mention of _that_ name. “No, I'm sorry, I really don't think that's going to work.”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks, for lack of a better word, pouted. “Oh, you two haven't even started practicing yet! And really, Blossom's the most extraordinary performer of the Townsville High Dance Company—”  
  
“I'll believe it when I see it with my own eyes,” Brick said resolutely, ignoring Mrs. Morbucks' huff of frustration. “I'll find a partner by the end of the week, I swear.” After a pause, he cleared his throat. “Um. Thank you, Mrs. Morbucks.”  
  
“My pleasure, Brick. But believe me when I say Blossom—”  
  
“ _I know_.” Brick took a deep inhale and held up a hand. “I know. I'll decide for myself, thank you.”  
  
She bid him farewell, and Mrs. Morbucks flickered off screen. After a pause, Brick headed for the window again.  
  
.~.  
  
“What's he up to in there?” The post-Valentine's-date-with-Haley glow in Boomer's expression had faded when his eyes landed on Brick's closed door.  
  
Butch blew a ring of smoke into the air and examined his joint. “Probably having phone sex with _my_ girlfriend,” he said bitterly. “Happy Valentine's Day indeed.”  
  
Boomer rolled his eyes and waved at his brother. “Come on. Pass it here.”  
  
Just as Butch extended his hand the front door burst open, and Brick stalked in with a stack of DVDs and some sort of booklet.  
  
“Turn on the TV for me, would you?”  
  
“What—where's all that from?” Boomer asked as Butch fumbled for the remote.  
  
“The Dance Company's video library.” Brick examined some cases, tossing a few aside as he settled on one.  
  
“You mean you broke into the school?” Boomer sat up as Brick set up the player and floated back to the couch.  
  
“And you didn't invite me?!” Butch exclaimed, hurt.  
  
“I'm doing research,” Brick said cryptically, flipping through his booklet. He suddenly looked up, frowning at the joint in Butch's hand. After a protracted look at Butch, he snatched it away from his brother and took a drag on it himself.  
  
Boomer peered over his shoulder as Brick flipped the pages. There were photos of girls—all dancers in the Company, he realized—with little blurbs next to each photo.  
  
“What kind of research? And pass that thing here.”  
  
“Quality check,” Brick responded, handing Boomer the joint. Finally he paused on a page, his attention focusing on the blurb next to a familiar redhead...  
  
“Oh my God,” Butch said slowly as he rose to his feet and floated to the television screen. “It's my girlfriend.” He turned to Brick, misty-eyed. “You are the best brother ever—”  
  
“We're not keeping those DVDs, so get your wanking off done while you can,” Brick said distractedly, then began muttering to himself as he read. “One of the two current Jr. Lieutenants... Dancing for ten years... five spent studying ballet, the last five split between jazz, ballroom, and hip hop...”  
  
“'Hip hop?'” Boomer squinted at the blurb. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Says here she does a lot of charity work and teaching hip hop is 'a great way to connect with inner-city kids,'” Brick read. He scoffed, unimpressed.  
  
“I looooove you,” Butch drawled as he reached a longing hand to the dancing Blossom on screen.  
  
“So what kind of research did you say this was?” Boomer asked, leaning back on the couch and exhaling smoke.  
  
“The kind of research that hopefully ends with me finding a competent partner that isn't her,” Brick explained. “For business and personal reasons.”  
  
Boomer snorted. “'Personal?' What kind of—”  
  
“Personal _sanity_ reasons,” Brick amended, frowning as he stared at the screen. “I'd feel a lot more gratified to discover she's nowhere near the level people make her out to be—Butch! For Christ's sake, quit licking the God damn screen!”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup looked up from a magazine as Blossom re-entered their bedroom via the window.  
  
“Where've _you_ been?”  
  
Blossom shivered as she shucked her layers and said, “Just... out. Trying to...” She pursed her lips in thought. “Trying to figure out where Him went.”  
  
“What? Why now?”  
  
“I thought Him might be able to... I dunno, tell us something about the boys.”  
  
“Seriously?” Buttercup snorted. “What more could you _possibly_ want to know about them?”  
  
Blossom considered going into the particulars of her questions—why she and Brick were so similar, so...  
  
She shook her head and shrugged. “I don't really know. But I thought Him would have something, nonetheless.” After a moment, she sat next to Buttercup on her bed. “Say.”  
  
“Say, what?” Buttercup tossed her magazine aside and laid back.  
  
“You remember how we used to find Him? How we'd just... think of finding Him, or going to Him's lair, and suddenly we were just... there?”  
  
Buttercup shuddered. “Eugh. Yeah, that was creepy.”  
  
“Tonight was the first time I'd tried it in a long time,” Blossom went on. “You know, since Him disappeared. And I thought maybe Him was just... I dunno, something stupid, like on vacation, or taking a break for awhile.”  
  
“Probably still is.” Buttercup shrugged. “Maybe Him just doesn't want to be disturbed.”  
  
Blossom turned to stare out their windows, narrowing her gaze at the clear night sky. “Or doesn't want to be found.”  
  
.~.  
  
Morning was just as chilly as the past weekend's evenings, and Brick winced against the wind as he flew to school, a good two hours before classes started. In his hands he carried the stack of DVDs and the Company Members book he'd “borrowed” on Saturday.  
  
There were only a few students milling about in the locker rooms; he slipped in through one entrance and darted a glance in the Dance Company's locker room to make sure it was empty. His loot had to go back to the Director's office at the other end of the room, right next to the studio.  
  
He dashed in, fumbling in his pocket for a pin to pick the lock. Within seconds he was inside, flipping the light switch and returning the DVDs to the shelf behind Mrs. Olson's desk. He grimaced as he put each one back in its place, the memory of their contents leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks had been right. Even pitted against the Dance Major, even against the Senior Lieutenants, Blossom was clearly the best dancer in the Company. He'd gone through performance after performance, scouring the stage for the best dancer every time. He recognized Cindy easily; she was a strong performer, and even Mel from the Dance class they'd visited wasn't bad. But the instant Blossom set foot onscreen she immediately drew one's attention—compared to the rest of them, she was remarkably graceful and talented. It was impossible to _not_ look at her.  
  
Brick returned the booklet to the shelf and stood, sighing. Of course Blossom would be the best. Like him and his brothers, the girls were practically an advanced species. Their senses were more acute than any average human being's, their bodies more adept. Naturally Blossom would shine as the Company's best dancer. It was like putting a diamond in a bed of coal.  
  
He regretted the analogy instantly, making a face. Ugh. He'd just compared her to the most precious gem in the world. Even on a rational level, it made him sick to his stomach. He made his way to the door.  
  
His superhearing suddenly picked up on steps in the hall, headed for the locker room, and he shrank back into the shadows against the wall, flicking the office lights off just as someone entered the room. He checked the clock on the wall; it was still practically two hours till the first class. Fuck, did the Company start practice this early?  
  
There was a large window that looked out over the locker room, and he watched as the girl's shadow traveled across the blinds. The thought suddenly occurred to him that maybe it was Mrs. Olson, and if so, well fuck, but no, whoever it was had opened one of the lockers and was changing. Even if Mrs. Olson had to change, she'd drop her belongings in her office first, so it wasn't her.  
  
He heard the locker door slam shut and held his breath as a figure passed the window. His eyes widened— _Fuck_. It was Blossom.  
  
Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit! Of all the fucking people to come in early, of course it'd be the one with fucking _superhearing_. How the fuck could he sneak out now? It was a miracle she hadn't picked up on his breathing yet!  
  
He mentally cursed himself and waited. Maybe someone else would come in, distract her by talking, and then he could zip out? Fuck, damn it, fuck fuck fuck. He listened as her steps echoed in the empty studio and music started filtering in through the wall. A glimmer of hope wrestled for purchase in his chest; perhaps she'd get wrapped up in the music, in practice, and then he could make his escape.  
  
He waited a while, mentally counting the slowest five minutes in his life, then crept forward to peek through the blinds. He had a terrible view of the studio from this angle, but if he used his X-ray vision it'd be very easy for her to pick up on the sensation of being watched. She flitted in and out of his range of vision—she appeared to still be stretching.  
  
He bit his lip as the song faded, then perked up as a faster song with a pounding bass line started. Good. With that cacophony of sound he could probably find a moment to at least open the door...  
  
Another minute passed before he tried it, praying the hinges wouldn't squeal. Mercifully, the door opened with the smallest of _click_ s, and, after he was sure she hadn't heard, he swung it open a little wider and crept toward the opening. He chanced a look at the open door to the studio—he could hear her footsteps at one end of the floor, far from the door, and he withheld a sigh of relief and slipped through.  
  
The song abruptly stopped, and he halted, not daring to move while there was absolute silence. Blossom's steps echoed from her end of the studio. He could see his reflection against the mirrors through the open studio door and prayed she wasn't standing where she could see him. It felt like an eternity before the next song started, and he began to sidle away, his eyes on the studio as his back hugged the wall.  
  
Suddenly she was there, _there_ in the doorway, blocking his reflection, and he froze, his brain frantically seeking out an explanation, an excuse, and a split second later he realized he didn't _need_ an excuse, all he needed to do was glare and dismiss her and that would be enough, and a split second after that he realized her eyes were closed and she hadn't seen him at all.  
  
She executed a perfect pirouette en pointe, remained on one foot as she folded into herself. Ballet. She was practicing ballet. He watched as she lowered herself to the floor, swept her legs around in a wide, graceful circle as her upper body twisted and arched towards the ceiling. No, not quite ballet—something more contemporary? She rose to her feet, her arms extended towards the mirror, and she pirouetted once more out of sight.  
  
She really was an excellent dancer, and Brick shot down the urge he had to move closer so he could continue watching. Appalled with himself, he lifted his feet and floated out of the locker room, not daring to take a breath until he was a good yard or so down the outside hall.  
  
Reccardi. Everything Mrs. Morbucks had said about him was true, Brick knew, particularly his affinity for the arts. And if Brick put together a performance piece with Blossom as his dancer, Reccardi wouldn't even _think_ of refusing him a meeting.  
  
Brick shook his head and braced himself for the cold air as he exited the building, eager for his morning coffee. First things first. Their first practice was today, after school. If that went well, then he could begin to consider doing a second dance with her.  
  
.~.  
  
“I've got conditions,” Blossom announced, making sure to keep her distance from Brick as she stared at Mrs. Morbucks and Jim, their choreographer.  
  
“So do I,” Brick added. Blossom ignored him and pointed at her lower half.  
  
“At no point are these legs—” and here she pointed in Brick's general direction, “—going around _that_ waist.”  
  
“These hands?” Brick held up his arms, then put one on his chest and one on his rear. “Not touching either of these parts on her.”  
  
“I'm sure Mrs. Olson's told you I don't do overtly... sexual dance moves in general.”  
  
“Nothing unmasculine, like ballet or contemporary, I'm not into that.”  
  
“I don't want to draw attention to my, you know... feminine parts.”  
  
“Put me in tights and I'll be mopping your blood off the floor with your _skin_.”  
  
“He is not to remove a single article of clothing from my body for the routine. Not so much as a hat, or a scarf, _nothing_.”  
  
“No swing. I'm not going to go out there with a stupid ass grin plastered on my face. I've got a reputation to keep.”  
  
“ _Absolutely no grinding_.”  
  
“And I swear to God, no swishy hip movements.”  
  
“What?” Blossom paused and turned from their stunned choreographer to issue a glare in her partner's direction. “'No swishy hip movements?' I saw you doing Latin at the party—”  
  
“I don't give a hundred percent on hip movement,” Brick clarified. “I'll do forty percent, tops. Any more than that and it starts looking faggy.”  
  
Blossom's jaw dropped and she choked, “ _How insensitive are you_?!”  
  
He gave her a scornful look. “Excuse me? 'Wah wah, don't draw attention to the fact that I have tits and don't make me do any booty shaking?' You don't want to look like a lady, and neither do I.”  
  
Blossom launched into a shrill, offended rant. Unruffled, Mrs. Morbucks put a hand on Jim's shoulder and comforted, “Just wait till you get them dancing together. They're bloody _magnificent_.”  
  
.~.  
  
“You're standing too close,” Blossom complained.  
  
“You're standing too stiff,” Brick groused.  
  
“You are _both_ too stiff and _neither_ of you are close enough,” Jim griped, grabbing them both by the arm and maneuvering Brick's around her waist (he recoiled) and Blossom's around Brick's shoulder (she gagged). Jim sighed and lifted Brick's other hand, placing Blossom's loose hand in it. He then backed away. “Maybe you two should just work on holding that position for five seconds without _screaming at each other_.” In the corner, Mrs. Morbucks flipped through a magazine, humming to herself.  
  
A tense five seconds passed, during which Blossom and Brick glared death spikes at each other.  
  
“Time,” Mrs. Morbucks declared.  
  
They practically shoved each other away, simultaneously avowing, “ _I quit_ —”  
  
“Oh, look, Blossom,” Mrs. Morbucks interrupted, holding up her magazine. “Starving children in Africa!”  
  
Blossom halted.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks flipped the page. “And Brick! It's your car.”  
  
Brick froze.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks lowered the magazine, eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Oh, I'm sorry, I interrupted. What were you saying?”  
  
.~.  
  
Butch flew home that afternoon in high spirits. This was the one time of day where the cold air felt good: after he'd sweated a storm during practice. The basketball coach had been near tears when he'd discovered Ms. Keane had banned Butch from their first game—this Thursday, in fact. Butch almost hadn't gone to practice—he didn't see the point when he wouldn't be playing anyway, but frankly, he enjoyed upstaging the rest of the team. Plus, it gave him prime time to antagonize Buttercup.  
  
She was wearing down. Recently she'd taken on ignoring him, likely because her hot sister had ordered her to, but Butch could be a real shit when he wanted to be. He'd pelted her incessantly with the ball when the coaches' backs were turned, stolen her own when the girls' team was running drills, tripped her both to and from the locker room—that last time she'd been close, so close, he'd seen that infuriated look in her eyes...  
  
She'd disappointed him, yet again. She'd turned away, taken off, glaring at him all the while. Glaring wasn't good enough. But each afternoon she got more pissed off, and it was only a matter of time now...  
  
He kicked open the door to their apartment and greeted Boomer, legs splayed on the floor as he re-strung his guitar. A second later a bright red streak went shooting through the door, ostensibly on the phone as it yelled in Brick's voice, “ _Absolutely not, Mrs. Morbucks! One is all I can take! Cindy will be my partner for Reccardi's performance, I don't care if she's the best, there is no way I'm dancing with her for more than one performance_ —”  
  
Butch's hair blew in his face and Boomer grabbed at his loose guitar strings as they went flying. Brick's door slammed in the process, and Butch and Boomer cocked their heads, curious about the yelling that continued on behind it.  
  
“What's that all about?” Butch said, perplexed.  
  
Boomer shrugged. “I'm guessing your girlfriend.”  
  
.~.  
  
“You have no idea how many times I had to remind myself that this was for charity!” Blossom screamed as she trashed the simulated monsters. “He was so _infuriating_!”  
  
Buttercup leaned over Bubbles, reaching for the training room's console. “Better kick the level up.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly,” Bubbles agreed, watching as Buttercup twisted the dial. Her eyes darted to a livid Blossom, who, in her rage, was making much too easy work of the horde of giant uglies bearing down upon her. Bubbles bit her lip and considered. “Um, you might want to go a little higher than that. She's running out of things to kill.”  
  
Blossom blasted through a new onslaught of monsters with her eyebeams.  
  
“He's even refused to remove that hideous, disgusting cap of his for the performance! Can you _believe_ how unprofessional that is?”  
  
“I'm going to go call the Professor and see when he's getting home,” Bubbles whispered, and started to stand. Buttercup instantly grabbed her and yanked her back down.  
  
“Don't you _dare_ leave me with her when she's like this,” she hissed.  
  
“ _And Mrs. Olson and Mrs. Morbucks agreed_!” Blossom swung a slew of virtual beasts into the virtual distance. “I couldn't believe it!”  
  
“She's out of monsters _again_ ,” Buttercup said in disbelief, reaching to turn the dial on the console.  
  
Bubbles watched as the numbers climbed. “No, higher. Higher. _Higher_. Okay, yeah. That should be good.”

.~.

Friday night came all too slowly for Bubbles. One sister couldn't stop griping about her new dance partner. The other was coming home with her muscles tense and teeth gnashing, and try as she might, Bubbles couldn't wrestle anything out of her. Neither was making it very pleasant to be at home since they were both wound up so tight, and the Professor wasn't in much because he kept getting called to the lab downtown. So her karaoke appointment with Kim and company came as a relief, a much anticipated opportunity to wind down and relax.  
  
The fact that Will had refused to come wasn't even bothering her. Much. She'd be seeing him tomorrow anyway, she thought cheerfully to herself—one of the guys on the team had just gotten an athletic scholarship to his top college, and she'd see Will there, at the celebratory dinner...  
  
Bubbles' smile faltered as she changed her clothes and thought of the cheer squad. They'd flat out ignored her for the past few weeks, and by this point Bubbles was beginning to think it was intentional. They'd all be there, ignoring her again... no, it couldn't be intentional. It had to be Bubbles' imagination...  
  
She sighed, pulling on her jacket and zipping down the stairs. After a casual wave at her sisters—still tense, even after dinner—she took off, trying not to wish Will were coming so she would feel less bothered about tomorrow.  
  
.~.  
  
“There you are!” Kim greeted Bubbles with a hug as soon as she landed. “No Will?”  
  
Bubbles shrugged nonchalantly and said, “He couldn’t make it.”  
  
“Oh? Football practice or something?”  
  
Bubbles’ eyes flickered to Mike (Number 24 on the Varsity Team) as he chattered with the rest of the group.  
  
“Or something,” she said quietly.  
  
“You oughtta drag him out one of these days,” Kim said, though not in an unfriendly way. “He’s never been out for karaoke with us.”  
  
“Yeah, well…” Bubbles rubbed at her jeans and tried the nonchalant shrug again. “Singing’s not really his thing.”  
  
“Not really my thing, either,” Mary laughed, joining in. “Or Bobby’s, or Jackie’s—”  
  
“Hey!” Bobby and Jackie said in unified, indignant tones.  
  
They all shared a laugh that was almost instantly broken by a voice over Bubbles’ shoulder.  
  
“What, did Bobby start singing already?”  
  
Bobby delivered his second indignant cry of the night, while the rest of them turned to greet the newcomer.  
  
“Hey Boomer!”  
  
“You made it!”  
  
“Boomer, Haley, what’s up!”  
  
Bubbles turned and took a step back to give the couple some breathing room.  
  
“Hey,” she said conversationally, masking her surprise. “Nobody told me you guys were coming!”  
  
“Last minute thing,” Mike answered for them. “Sorry, I must’ve mentioned it before you got here.”  
  
The slightly offended look Boomer was giving Bubbles said something along the lines of _Is this a problem_?  
  
She crossed her arms and smiled slyly. “Can you actually sing without a band and your mighty axe to back you up?”  
  
Surprise flitted briefly across his face before he smiled in kind. “Still got the power of my heartbreaking good looks, don’t I?”  
  
“Ha ha.” Bubbles laughed with the rest of them as they began making their way inside.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles sat nestled between Mary and Jackie, nursing her soda as Haley wrapped up a bubblegum pop song from Britney Spears’ prepubescent heyday that Boomer had insisted— _insisted_ —she sing. After initially shrieking her protest, she gamely took up the mic and delivered a more than adequate rendition. For someone who never sang onstage, Bubbles noted, Haley didn’t have that bad a voice.  
  
The dark-haired bassist of The Galaxy Girls pretended to curtsy as the room applauded and cheered, then hastily waggled the microphone at her boyfriend.  
  
“Come on, Boomer! You haven’t been up yet!”  
  
Boomer made a show of dragging himself up to his feet as his seatmates frantically skimmed the song list. Haley passed off the mic and giggled as he touched his forehead to hers, giving her a smile and a quick kiss before taking center stage.  
  
Bubbles shifted uncomfortably as Haley sat down, ashamed for letting the exchange get to her. She’d tried not to notice when, after first entering the room, the couples had gelled as if they were one unit, leaving her, Mary, and Jackie clustered at the end of one couch. The only three in the group lacking significant others.  
  
But the thing that really got to her was that, at least in Mary and Jackie’s case, they didn’t have a choice in the matter simply because they didn’t _have_ significant others. That made it easy for them. She felt lonely; Bubbles was a sensitive girl. And that made it all the harder to keep from eyeing Boomer and Haley with jealousy when they reached for each other, pressed close together in the dim room, a blissfully happy couple in every sense of the phrase.  
  
She turned her gaze on the knees of her jeans as the group finally made their selection, cackling. Boomer had a similar reaction when the opening chords of one of those illustrious Queen hits from the 80s began assaulting the speakers. A showman first and a good sport second, he dove into it with an ardor appropriate of any Freddie Mercury wannabe. His enthusiastic sendup was infectious, and eventually Bubbles couldn’t help but laugh and cheer with the rest of them, her misery briefly forgotten.  
  
He took a protracted bow as the room exploded into applause and cheering. As he rose, he caught Bubbles’ attention and grinned.  
  
“What did I tell you?”  
  
She laughed back. “Not sure about the heartbreaking good looks, but your singing’s not bad.”  
  
“‘Not bad?’ ‘ _Not bad_?’”  
  
She shrugged apologetically.  
  
“Geez, you’re demanding.” He gave a good-natured laugh and handed the mic to Kim before returning to Haley.  
  
“Oh no,” Kim said automatically, holding the microphone away from her at arm’s length. “I’ve already gone.”  
  
“Bubbles hasn’t,” Mary helpfully offered, playfully shoving the girl in question.  
  
“I’m still finishing my soda,” Bubbles pointed out, punctuating this with a loud sip.  
  
Mary responded by grabbing the bottle and chucking it in the trash. “Oh, look at that! I just saw Bubbles finish her soda! And it didn’t involve me ripping it out of her hands and throwing it away for her! Well, I guess it’s her turn now!”  
  
“Guys,” Bubbles resisted, but the room wasn’t having any of it.  
  
“Everyone else has sung except _you_!”  
  
“Why do you always act so embarrassed?”  
  
“You’ve got a great voice!”  
  
Mary, Jackie, and Mike dragged Bubbles to her feet and planted her at the front of the room as these cries of adulation peppered the air. Kim got up and passed the microphone to Bubbles, who took it reluctantly.  
  
“Okay, so what am I going to sing?” she mumbled.  
  
“Christina!”  
  
“Britney!”  
  
“We just did Britney…”  
  
“Who was that chick from the 80s? Tiffany?”  
  
“We just did 80s too!”  
  
“Mariah!”  
  
“Yes!” Several people high-fived one another. Bubbles gawked at them.  
  
“You _guys_! Her voice is off the scale! Like, _literally_!”  
  
“I’ve totally heard you go that high before, Bubbles.”  
  
“But I haven’t even warmed up!” she protested, yet the song had already started, sealing her fate.  
  
As she gave in and lifted the mic, humming experimentally, she looked over the room. Save for Boomer and Haley, everyone’s attention was rooted on her. Boomer was whispering something in Haley’s ear, or nibbling it, or something, and Haley squirmed and giggled.  
  
Boomer was as affectionate with Haley as Bubbles was with Will, and she wished Will had come so she wouldn’t be feeling lonely, wouldn’t be guiltily watching other couples in his absence.  
  
More than anything, though, as she closed her eyes and let her hum build up to a full-throated vocalization, she wished Will were here so Boomer could see that he wasn’t the only super-powered being in this world who knew how to be carefree, happy, and in love.  
  
.~.  
  
“See you guys Monday! Drive safe!” Bubbles waved as the crowd slowly dispersed under the stars. Before she could take off, however, Kim grabbed her by the arm and maneuvered her away, assuring Bobby that she’d only be a minute.  
  
“Walk with me,” Kim muttered, and Bubbles obliged, blinking in surprise all the while.  
  
“Um, okay…”  
  
When the shadow of the building had fallen over them, Kim stopped and leaned in conspiratorially. “What’s up with you and Boomer?”  
  
Bubbles jumped back, scandalized. “ _What_?!”  
  
“Shhh!” Kim hissed, and continued in a quieter tone, “There’s something going on with you two. You kept staring at him and Haley—”  
  
“Okay, really, they were an incredibly affectionate and very distracting couple—”  
  
“—And he kept staring at _you_.”  
  
This was an unexpected revelation. Bubbles eyed Kim warily. “Are you serious?”  
  
“I am the epitome of seriousness right now,” her friend whispered. “I mean, he wasn’t paying much attention to anyone but Haley at the beginning of the evening, until you got up to sing and opened your mouth.”  
  
Bubbles crooked an arm on each hip, obviously disbelieving everything Kim had said about seriousness and the like.  
  
“Are you serious?” she repeated, dryly.  
  
“I was sitting right next to them! The second you started singing, he immediately stopped necking his girlfriend and _couldn’t take his eyes off you_!”  
  
The horror on Bubbles’ face should've been enough indication of her non-involvement in this non-relationship. She hoped Kim was making note of that.  
  
“I didn’t—Are you serious? I mean, I would've noticed...”  
  
Kim crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “No offense, Bubbles. I mean, you're good with people, but you aren't exactly Sherlock Holmes when it comes to your powers of observation.”  
  
Bubbles' shoulders slumped. “Okay, I know it's true, but _ouch_.”  
  
When she had finished her song, the cheering hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary—the crowd was well-aware from previous karaoke excursions that Bubbles could indeed sing. And the open-mouthed reaction of the two newcomers—Boomer and Haley—wasn’t that out of the ordinary either, considering most people reacted that way when they realized what everybody else in the room already knew.  
  
“That was incredible! Where’d you learn to sing like that?!” Haley had exclaimed, and Bubbles had responded with a shy smile, a modest shrug. She couldn’t remember Boomer saying anything, and if he had been staring, she'd had no idea. Fueled by the exhilaration that always overcame her when she sang, she had resolved well into her performance that she was here to have a good time and not to sulk about Will.  
  
So the rest of the evening was spent laughing and joking with friends rather than staring covetously at the demonstrative couple in the corner.  
  
“I had no idea,” she said conclusively, and sighed again.  
  
This didn’t necessarily mean anything, though. Just that Boomer had been really blown away by her voice. It didn’t mean anything besides that, right?  
  
Right?  
  
.~.  
  
“I’m in love,” Boomer announced as he flung open the door. Brick and Butch barely batted an eye.  
  
“… Hello?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, Haley’s super hot. I totally wish I was doing her, and I totally could, but I won’t out of respect for my pussy-brother’s fragile, delicate heart,” Butch said, waving the remote lazily at him. Boomer wandered over to the kitchen and began rummaging for a soda.  
  
“Hilarious. But I wasn’t talking about Haley.” He shot a look at Brick, who was seated at the kitchen table and perusing his AP World Studies textbook. “Brick?”  
  
“Are you asking if I’d like to venture a guess?” Brick said in a bored voice, not looking up from his text.  
  
“Guess away,” Boomer invited, popping the top of his soda.  
  
“You caught sight of that vintage Gibson Invader sitting in the display window of Guitar God,” Brick offered, flipping a page.  
  
“Wrong! I—wait, they’ve got a Gibson Invader?... Fuck you, stop distracting me.” He paused to make a mental note to stop by Guitar God the next day and drool at his new friend. “Anyway, you’re both wrong.” He waited for them to ask why.  
  
Silence.  
  
He made a face, then said carelessly, “My fickle heart is now the property of a certain…” He paused dramatically, then said, in a barely audible voice, “…blue-eyed, blonde-haired, superheroine…”  
  
Finally, he had their attention. Butch was looking at him now from his perch on the couch, face twisted in astonishment. Brick had paused, mid-page turn, and Boomer felt icicles forming between them as Brick turned a grim eye in his direction.  
  
“Otherwise known as Bubbles,” he finished with a glint in his eye, and moved to join their leader at the table.  
  
“You aren’t serious,” Brick said darkly, his voice frosting over the very air. Boomer waved it away as he sipped his soda.  
  
“I’m in love,” he repeated. “She sings, and flowers bloom. Stars fall from the sky. The sun starts revolving around the Earth. The Earth starts revolving around the moon. The moon—”  
  
“I get it,” Brick said sharply. “But you still aren’t serious—”  
  
Butch interrupted by slamming an open magazine down on the center of the table.  
  
“You see this?” he queried Boomer, voice hysterical. Boomer and Brick both glanced at the page. Butch was indicating the infamous shoe ad depicting a stiletto-heeled Blossom from the neck down, the fabric of her white blouse and A-line skirt hugging her slender form like a desperate lover.  
  
Brick groaned and covered his eyes as his sex-crazed brother took out a Magic Marker and began drawing outlandish arrows on the page.  
  
“Hips. Boobs. Legs. _Oh God, her legs_. Neckline.” He punctuated each of these with a wide circle, then held it up for Boomer to see. “You get that? _This_ is the sort of thing you fall in love with. Not this—” He flipped two pages to Bubbles’ ad, where, from the neck down, the blonde girl could be seen hugging a puppy to her chest as she walked three more, clad in what was now the cutest variation on a Catholic schoolgirl outfit he’d ever seen.  
  
“But _this_ ,” Butch said, flipping two pages back to the diagrammed Blossom ad. Boomer calmly took the magazine and marker from his brother and flipped back to Bubbles’ page, where he started doodling hearts all around her.  
  
Butch flung his arms up into the air. “Hopeless.”  
  
“You’re going to stand there and tell me Bubbles isn’t the damned cutest thing you ever saw,” Boomer said carelessly, coloring in his hearts.  
  
“Cute, yeah! But clearly you are missing the whole _Blossom setting the world’s loins ablaze with the perfection that is her body_ —”  
  
“Until she opens the imperfection that is her mouth,” Brick interrupted shortly. He lowered his hand and turned his attention back to Boomer. “Butch’s intentions are all fucked up, but he’s got the right general idea: You _aren’t_ serious.”  
  
“I think her body’s adorable,” Boomer shrugged, focusing on the hint of a smile at the very top of the page. It cut off just so he could glimpse part of her open mouthed grin. He pointed at her throat. “Besides, _this_ is the part I’m really interested in.”  
  
“Are you a fucking vampire or something?” Butch wrenched his marker away.  
  
“Her voice,” Boomer went on, eyes glazing over at the memory. “When she started to sing, flowers—”  
  
“Okay, yeah, we got the memo,” Brick said, silencing his brother with a hand. “Flowers fucking stars fucking Earth. But the _reason_ I know you’re not serious is the stone cold fact that she. Is. The. _Enemy_.”  
  
Boomer rolled his eyes. “Not anymore. And anyway, you’re being a bit melodramatic.”  
  
“Is. Was the enemy. Whatever. But this violates all sorts of protocols—”  
  
“What ‘protocols?’ You didn’t say anything about wanting to date one—”  
  
“I _said_ not to engage in anything that would draw unwanted attention!” Brick snapped, directing a brief glare at Butch, who suddenly became very interested in the year and make of his marker. “You, you're lucky your God damn food fight didn't draw any unwanted attention! And _you_? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure _falling_ for one of them will draw unwanted attention!”  
  
“Dude, Butch doesn’t make it a secret that he thinks Blossom is the hottest piece of ass to walk the planet!”  
  
“Oh God, yes she is,” Butch moaned, swaying a little.  
  
“But I don’t have to worry about _Butch_ when he says he’s in love, because he isn’t being serious!”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Boomer muttered. “Fair enough.” A thought occurred to him, and he directed a thoughtful look at Brick. “Wait. 'Unwanted attention?' This from the guy who's dancing in a very public fundraising event—”  
  
The shock that entered Brick's face was quickly replaced by fury. “That is _not_ the same thing—”   
  
“But just because you don't enjoy her company makes it okay to—”  
  
“Believe it or not, it's actually kind of work-related,” Brick seethed.  
  
“Except we're _on vacation_ ,” Boomer sang, his voice climbing to a falsetto for the last two words.  
  
“ _And_ I'm getting a car out of _my_ deal.”  
  
Boomer shrugged. “And I could get a cute girl out of mine.”  
  
“She is _not_ cute—”  
  
“Hey! Isn't that, like, a matter of opinion—”  
  
“Blossom's cute,” Butch interjected.  
  
“ _Shut up_ ,” Brick snarled. “Boomer. Look. Here is the problem. You get really... worked up about shit. Like, personally invested.”  
  
Boomer's shoulders slumped. “Brick, seriously—”  
  
“ _I'm serious_ ,” Brick interrupted. “And so when I hear you say you're in love with this girl—”  
  
“Come on!” Boomer exclaimed.  
  
“I know you—”  
  
“Oh, fuck off, you like to think you know me and Butch, but—”  
  
“ _Trust me, Boomer, I know you_ ,” Brick said in a dangerous voice.  
  
Boomer bit his lip, glaring. Finally he took a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes.  
  
“Brick. Listen. You... you're right, I can get a little... too into things.” He opened his eyes and looked his brother square in the eye. “But this is different, and here's why: we're only here until June. I know whatever fucking relationship I get into is going to end in a few months, and honestly? I'm cool with that. Whatever, you know? I'm just trying to have fun, you know, dick around, whatever.” He grinned. “And come on, you know I like to fuck shit up sometimes.”  
  
Brick sighed. “We are not here to 'fuck shit up—'”  
  
“I didn't mean literally. I mean I'm trying to enjoy this vacation,” Boomer said firmly. “And trust me: when I say I'm in love with her, this is coming from a... hormonal teenage boy. I mean, how many hormonal teenage boys say this and mean it?” After a moment, he added, “Except Butch.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Butch, he’s got a point.” Brick settled back in his seat, but was not entirely reassured.  
  
“I’ve got a point, too,” Butch said, and flipped back to Blossom’s ad. “A point for _her_. And by point I mean—”  
  
“ _We know what you fucking mean_ ,” Boomer griped.  
  
“ _Urgh_.” Brick banged his head on the table. “You have _terrible_ taste in women.”  
  
Butch shoved at Brick. “You can’t claim I have terrible taste when I’m lusting after something as fine as this.” He started to write _Brick would totally tap this ass_ next to Blossom’s hips—  
  
“Gimme that,” Brick snapped, grabbing at the magazine. One of the pages flipped in the process, and he did a double take. His shoulders slumped, and with an exasperated sigh, he turned back to Butch.  
  
“Does psycho girl know that you’ve given her double H tits here?” he asked dryly, holding up Buttercup’s ad. Butch had, indeed, doodled a humongous rack underneath what one could only assume was a trademark Buttercup scowl.  
  
“What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”  
  
“But what she finds out might kill _you_ ,” Brick retorted.  
  
Boomer took the magazine back and flipped over to Bubbles’ page one last time, an idyllic smile on his face as he noted the clouds of hearts surrounding her. He could feel Brick’s wary eyes on him again, and without making eye contact, he snorted.  
  
“Come on, Brick. It’s fucking high school. I’ll have a new love interest in a week.”  
  
With a defeated sigh, Brick finally relaxed in his chair and returned to his textbook.  
  
“It is a testament to our lifelong brotherly bond that I am choosing to trust you.” He gave Boomer one last glare. “Don't disappoint me.”  
  
.~.  
  
The weekend was kind to the girls. Blossom and Buttercup eventually ran out of angry energy, and at dinner on Saturday Bubbles wound up flanked on either side by Will and Mike, who was a kind friend and always easy to talk to. And after mulling it over, Bubbles dismissed her conversation with Kim as paranoia on her friend's behalf.  
  
Monday, then, was a rude awakening.  
  
Brick had his first period free and wound up being pulled into Blossom's Dance IV class to watch them practice their routine.  
  
Buttercup walked into English to find everyone with a photocopied page of her shoe ad. Butch's photocopied page of her shoe ad.  
  
And Bubbles. The subject of the conversation with Kim that she'd shrugged off turned out to be more than just a passing concern. And the entire school seemed to know about it.  
  
She didn't realize it immediately. The first major clue had been running into Haley in the girls' bathroom, who greeted her with a hurt glare. The second major clue happened the instant she reached her locker after first period.  
  
Boomer was leaning against it, and he beamed as she warily approached.  
  
“Hey,” he said affably.  
  
“Uh... hi,” she said slowly, darting glances at him as she fiddled with her locker combination. He didn't say anything after that, and she tried to ignore what Kim had said as she struggled for conversation. “Hey, I saw Haley earlier... is everything okay?”  
  
“Oh, we broke up,” Boomer shrugged.  
  
Bubbles' eyes widened and she gaped at him. “What?!”  
  
He hunched his shoulders up. “I mean, I broke up with her. If you want to get technical about it.”  
  
“What... what for? You guys looked so... so happy on Friday—”  
  
“Yeah, it was fun while it lasted,” Boomer said, staring off into the distance and grinning. He turned his attention back to her. “Did you have fun?”  
  
Bubbles blinked, suddenly aware of how quiet it seemed in the hall for a passing period, how everyone's eyes seemed to be on her and Boomer.  
  
“Um... yeah, I did...”  
  
The smile on Boomer's face widened. “Good.”  
  
She granted him a nervous smile, then closed her locker. “Well, I guess I'll see you in—”  
  
“Algebra II? You mean our next class?”  
  
Bubbles had to suppress her surprise; it'd completely slipped her mind that they shared second period. Then she was wondering why she was nervous. Then she realized it was because he was talking to her, and Kim had said things, and Haley had been upset, and everyone was staring at them—  
  
“Can I walk with you?” he asked, his eyes bright.  
  
“No, I'm sorry, I don't think that's a good idea...” She instantly shook her head, glancing around the hall. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head.  
  
“But we're heading in the same direction. To the same class, even.”  
  
“I know, I know,” she said hurriedly, starting to walk and feeling dismayed when he followed. “I just... no, I don't think that's a good idea... I mean, it's really nice of you to offer, Boomer, but...”  
  
He was walking beside her, matching her quick pace. “I understand. I probably make you nervous, since, you know, I was a real prick when I was a kid and tried to, well, kill you. Sorry about that, by the way.”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Bubbles said distractedly, nodding and keeping her eyes trained on the floor.  
  
“Say, you want to go out with me sometime?”  
  
Bubbles stopped and whirled to look at him, agog. “Wh-what?!”  
  
“You know, like a date. Dinner, movie, concert, whatever, I'm game—”  
  
“Excuse me, but I have a _boyfriend_!” she cried, indignant.  
  
“Ooh.” He sucked in a breath and winced. “You think he'd mind?”  
  
Bubbles was thoroughly repulsed. “ _I mind_!”  
  
“Look, why don't I just give you some time to think about it—”  
  
“I do not need time to 'think about this,'” Bubbles hissed, and resumed walking.  
  
Boomer picked up his pace and followed her. “I get it, this is a bad time—”  
  
She scoffed, “Yeah? You think?” She stopped again and stared at him, not bothering to mask her disdain.  
  
He blinked for a second, then snapped to attention and held up his hands in surrender.  
  
“Right! Not walking you to class. Sorry. I'll just, you know, take the long way around. Even though it's like, two doors away.” He grinned and started backtracking. “So, I'll see you in class.”  
  
Bubbles shook her head and stalked away.  
  
“ _Think about it_!” he called after her as she shoved open the door.  
  
.~.  
  
Robin raised an eyebrow.  
  
“He broke up with Haley over you?”  
  
“Looks like it,” Bubbles muttered, picking at her lunch.  
  
“You sure are letting it get to you,” Buttercup said lightly, but she was glaring in Boomer's direction. Though Bubbles wasn't sure whether it was because he was sitting with Mitch and the boys, or because Butch had just joined them.  
  
“How can I _not_ let it get to me?” Bubbles moaned. “I just basically ruined Haley's life!”  
  
Robin patted her friend affectionately. “Not her life, sweetie. One short high school relationship. There's a difference.”  
  
“Not in high school,” Bubbles muttered, then winced. “I feel eyes. Is he looking over here?”  
  
“Yes,” Buttercup said venomously. Her sister buried her face in her hands.  
  
“God, I hope Will doesn't know yet. He'll throw a fit.”  
  
“Understandably,” Buttercup said, turning back to her food. A sudden flash of metal sparked in the air, and Buttercup instantly caught a fork a split second before it hit her in the head. “ _I saw that, asshole_!” she screeched at Butch, livid. Butch cocked his head innocently.  
  
“One of these days I'm going to fucking kill that guy,” Buttercup snarled under her breath, stabbing into her food with renewed vigor.  
  
“You girls sure are getting a lot of unwanted attention these days,” Robin observed. “I wonder how Blossom's holding up.”  
  
“I wonder if Blossom's _heard_ ,” Bubbles said distractedly, grimacing as Boomer caught her eye and smiled.  
  
.~.  
  
On the days where Blossom wasn't spending lunch in the studio—which were happening less frequently since the small row with Buttercup—she followed Brick out from their last class before lunch to wherever he happened to go. Naturally, neither enjoyed the other's company, exchanging glares instead of words as they studied and ate in silence.  
  
Today, though, she was feeling exceptionally upset. Not just because of the dancing, but because of something she'd overheard in the hall during the passing period...  
  
So she broke their quiet habits and stalked across the courtyard to him, making sure to block his sunlight as she came to a stop by his side. He gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh and looked up. “What.”  
  
“What does your brother want with my sister?” she demanded.  
  
“I don't like to get into the details with either of my siblings when it comes to girls,” Brick said simply.  
  
“Maybe you ought to,” she said, her voice low and threatening.  
  
“Maybe you ought to mind your own God damn business.” His tone reflected hers to a T.  
  
“Language.” Those pink eyes narrowed. “Tell him to _stay away from her_.”  
  
Brick's lip curled. “Tell him _yourself_. Now why don't you get out of my fucking sight—”  
  
“ _Language_ ,” Blossom hissed—  
  
“—because Christ knows we've spent more than enough time together as it is,” Brick finished viciously.  
  
It was a long time before Blossom stiffly huffed away and settled back at her end of the courtyard.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles adjusted her backpack as she made her way to the school entrance and the final bell of the day rang. Will was already hovering at the door, ribbing his teammates and laughing as they passed an old football around, and she couldn’t help but smile as he caught sight of her and flashed her a grin.  
  
“Baby!”  
  
She giggled as the guys parted to include her. “Hi to you too, cutie.”  
  
He took her hand as the group of them muscled their way through the after school crowd and out the doors. She leaned into him and sighed, relief washing over her as her eyes fluttered shut. Obviously he hadn’t caught wind of Boomer’s misguided affections yet, or else he’d be—  
  
“Good thing your girl’s only got eyes for you, huh Will?”  
  
Bubbles’ eyes flew open as her stomach bottomed out. Will caught the football his friend tossed to him and gave his other buddy a quizzical look.  
  
“What’s that mean?”  
  
She tried to shoot meaningful looks at the rest of them, but they barreled on, oblivious.  
  
“Are you kidding me?”  
  
“You haven’t heard about that guy yet?”  
  
Now he had stopped, his grip tightening on Bubbles’ mitt. He glanced at her. “What are they talking about?”  
  
“It’s nothing, Will,” she said hastily. “Just some dumb rumor—”  
  
“Hey, there he is!”  
  
Bubbles could’ve punched someone. And boy, did she want to, as she winced and followed everybody’s gaze to Boomer a good distance away, chatting up a storm with his band around the flagpole.  
  
He hadn’t noticed them yet. And Bubbles was hoping to keep it that way.  
  
She began tugging on Will’s arm. “Come on, sweetie, let’s just go—”  
  
“Hold up.” To her dismay, he shook her off, and turned his attention to the rest of the guys. “Him? One of those guys with the superpowers?”  
  
“Man, you should’ve heard him! I was sitting behind him in English, and he kept going on about how cute your girl is and how sweet he is on her and Bubbles this, Bubbles that—”  
  
“Guys, _stop_.” Bubbles shouldered her way back into the circle and made Will look her in the eye. “I don’t care what he says, Will, I’m not…” She trailed off as his eyes drifted back to Boomer, anger slowly building in his gaze. He wasn’t listening. She reached for him and said desperately, “Will, don’t—”  
  
To her horror he snapped his arm back and flung his football at Boomer. It arced beautifully in the air, sailing above the heads of other students before _thump_ ing into the back of Boomer’s blonde nest of hair.  
  
“ _Will_!” Horrified, Bubbles immediately started yanking at his arm.  
  
Based on the force with which Will had thrown the ball, any normal student would’ve been out cold. Boomer, whose head had barely twitched forward, turned around, brow knit in confusion as he scanned the air and swatted dubiously at an imaginary fly.  
  
“Hey! _Asshole_!” Will bellowed, causing several students—including Boomer—to turn in his direction. “Yeah, you know your name, don’t you?”  
  
“Will, _no_!” Bubbles pleaded, gripping his arm. “You don’t know what he could—”  
  
“Is this piece of shit here yours?” Boomer called out, having noticed the football wobbling at his feet. He picked it up and examined it shrewdly. He looked back at Will, eyes glimmering as they skimmed over Bubbles. “You got some nerve, man.”  
  
“You’re the one who’s making passes at my girl,” Will shot back. “You got any idea who you’re messing with?”  
  
The look that passed over Boomer’s face was incredulous. Soon enough, though, it settled into something darker, and Bubbles felt the air go cold as he said quietly, “I think you’ve got it backwards, friend.”  
  
The ball was suddenly a blur of blue flame, hurtling like a bullet towards Will, and Bubbles shoved him out of the way, bracing herself as she caught it, concrete piling up behind her feet as the force of it propelled her back.  
  
She stared at the thing in her hands as the blue flames fizzled out, then looked up, jaw set and furious. Students were screaming and cheering and widening into a circle of onlookers. Will had already scrambled up and was stalking towards an unfazed Boomer.  
  
 _No_.  
  
She flung the ex-ball aside and streaked towards them, dodging the other students. Boomer was shifting his weight, head cocked to the side as he studied her boyfriend.  
  
Bubbles could see Will’s hand reaching out to clench Boomer by the collar, at the same instant Boomer lifted his…  
  
“ _Don’t touch him_!” she shrieked, zipping over the rest of the crowd as she snatched Will’s hand and shoved Boomer away. In her urgency she jerked Will hard enough for him to buckle to the ground, and Boomer was flung back against the flagpole, wincing as he dented the metal. He blinked and groaned.  
  
She dropped Will’s hand and, ignoring the gawking onlookers, stepped closer to Boomer, glaring at him as he steadied his footing. He shook his head to clear it, then looked up at her and beamed.  
  
“Hey, beautiful.”  
  
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, and at the look on her face his grin dissolved. “Listen. I don’t care what you say to me, or anyone else, but if you so much as come _near_ my boyfriend again—”  
  
“Now hold up, I didn’t start—”  
  
“Yes you did!” she screamed, and he clamped his mouth shut. “ _You’re_ the one who started this stupid rumor—”  
  
“Wha—‘rumor?’” he sputtered. “You think I’m lying about liking you—”  
  
“You don’t _like_ me! You’re saying these stupid things to make me angry, to make _Will_ angry, because you’re a bad person and you do _bad things_!”  
  
“Wait a minute—”  
  
“ _I will not wait a minute_!” she screeched, and several students slapped their hands over their ears as her piercing voice reverberated in the air. “I don’t care _what_ you say to me, I don’t care what you _do_ to me, but if you start on anybody I love, I swear I’m going to make you regret it! So _don’t touch him_! _Don’t you dare touch him, okay_?!”  
  
“Bubbles, I didn’t—”  
  
“ _Okay_?!” she interrupted, voice shrill and eyes wild with panic. She could feel herself threatening to choke on her words and explode into hysterical sobs at any second, but she held her ground and didn’t take her eyes off of Boomer.  
  
He swallowed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”  
  
At his concession her expression slackened, as well as her resolve not to cry, and before Boomer or the rest of the school could see her crumple she turned, scooped Will up, and zipped off.  
  
An eerie, uneasy silence fell over the crowd. Somewhere in the distance, Butch punctuated it with a loud cackle.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles had only managed to make it a few blocks before she had to stop; she was so shaken up. She dropped Will as gently as she could on the sidewalk and sank to the ground herself beside him, hugging her knees to her chest and biting her lip to fight back tears.  
  
He had _threatened_ someone she loved. Someone she cared about. Someone whose life meant nothing to him and more than anything to her. How could he turn around and claim he _liked_ her? That he actually had _feelings_ for her?  
  
Will shifted, and she instantly stood, blinking furiously.  
  
“Will? Will, are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice brusque. Bubbles hesitated, expecting him to continue. After some time, she stepped closer and reached for his hand.  
  
“Are you sure? You’re not—”  
  
The sudden glare he gave her stung almost as much as the sight of him snatching his hand away.  
  
“Quit mothering me! I said I’m _fine_!”  
  
He turned away from her and stalked away. Away. She felt that sudden fear drop down on her like a dead weight, that overwhelming, suffocating sensation of an impending relationship-breaking fight stinging like arrows in her heart.  
  
“Will!” She started after him, scrubbing at her face to keep the tears at bay.  
  
“What,” he grumbled, not turning, not waiting. She swallowed and, instead of reaching for him, fell to a soft pace behind him.  
  
“It’s just… you don’t seem fine,” she whispered.  
  
“Yeah, well, really? I’m not.” He stopped abruptly, and she stumbled a bit in her effort not to run into him. “You didn’t have to do that.”  
  
She blinked. “What?”  
  
“I would’ve been fine,” he clarified, finally turning and looking her in the eye. “I can fend for myself, Bubbles. I don’t need you to take care of me, superpowers or not.”  
  
Her jaw dropped, mind flashing back to that grin, that sinister little grin that had spread across Boomer’s face as he reached for Will—  
  
“ _What_?!” she shrieked. “Are you crazy? How can you—”  
  
“I would’ve been fine!”  
  
“ _No you wouldn’t have_! You don’t have any idea what he’s like, what he could—what he could do to you—”  
  
“Well, tell you what! Stay out of it next time and let me find out for myself!”  
  
“Will, you don’t understand—”  
  
“I can walk home myself,” he snapped in an ugly voice, and she stopped, stunned and hurt as she watched him stalk further and further away from her.  
  
 _You don’t understand_ , she thought to herself, and through the tears in her eyes she couldn’t even see him at all.  
  
.~.  
  
“Come on, Bubbles, cheer up,” Buttercup teased as they flew to school the following morning. “You know what his complaint is? That you're basically more awesome than him.”  
  
“Mmph.” The look on Bubbles' face was significantly less than awesome. “You're only saying that because you don't think he's awesome anyway.”  
  
“He isn't,” Buttercup said automatically, her tone grave. “Especially after saying something like that to his _girlfriend_.”  
  
“He was just upset.” Bubbles sighed and rubbed her eyes as they landed. “Look, um, I'll see you later.” Without waiting for her sister to respond, Bubbles darted off into the building, losing herself in the crowd. After dumping her books in her locker, she made her way to the hall where Will's locker resided and waited. It wasn't long before she saw him coming her way, and she instantly straightened and tried not to look like a wounded puppy.  
  
“Hey,” Will said quietly.  
  
A brave smile. This was easy, all she had to do was say, “Morning—”  
  
Bubbles felt her face crumple and she fell against him, biting back the oncoming tears.  
  
“Whoa, whoa,” he said in a soothing voice, stroking her hair. “Chill out, it's fine—”  
  
Bubbles mumbled something into his shirt, and he gently pushed her back.  
  
“What? You were all... you know, muffled...”  
  
“I said, 'Please don't break up with me,'” Bubbles repeated, her voice small and her eyes glistening. “I'm sorry.”   
  
He gave her an amused, heartstopping smile. “Why would I want to break up with you?”  
  
“Because I'm a bad girlfriend,” she whimpered, looking at the ground.  
  
He laughed and hugged her to one side as he opened his locker.  
  
“Baby, you're the best girlfriend ever.”  
  
“Really?” She allowed herself a small smile but sniffed.  
  
“Really.” He fished one book out of his bag and tossed the rest in his locker before shutting it. She sighed and leaned on him as they started to walk.  
  
“How am I the best girlfriend ever?” she wheedled, a mischievous glint in her eye.  
  
“Hm. Well, you're super cute...”  
  
“Yeah? Oh, wait, turn this way, I left my choir stuff in my locker—”  
  
“And you're a great singer...”  
  
Bubbles laughed as they reached her locker and she started rummaging for her music. “Yeah...?”  
  
“And you worry about me, like all the time...”  
  
“Walk me to Choir?” Bubbles beamed, linking her arm in Will's as they started navigating the crowded halls again.  
  
“And you also look super hot in your Cheerleading outfit... Um, I mean, looked...”  
  
She laughed nervously, suppressing a wince.  
  
“Of course, you look super hot all the time.” Will punctuated this with a kiss to her forehead. They were nearing the music hall. Bubbles squeezed his hand.  
  
“Say, Will... does it bother you that I dropped—” She cut off as they rounded the corner, spotting Boomer and Brick not five feet away.  
  
Will's grip on her hand tensed as Boomer's eyes drifted from his brother to the couple. Brick turned and glanced in their direction, his expression grim.  
  
Bubbles bit her lip and tugged. “Come on, Will.”  
  
“See you, Boomer,” she heard Brick say as they approached, though it sounded more like an order—  
  
“Hey,” Boomer reached to touch her as they passed, and Will instantly spun Bubbles out of reach, clenching her hand.  
  
She glimpsed Brick disappearing into the crowd and was slightly disappointed he didn't stay to mediate. Then she realized if Boomer and Will got started and it came to choosing sides, Brick had no reason to ally with her...  
  
“What do _you_ want,” Will demanded, narrowing his eyes at Boomer.  
  
“Will,” she started, beseeching him—  
  
“I didn’t come here to pick a fight,” Boomer stated loudly, holding his hands up in surrender. “I wanted to…” He paused, a grimace on his face, and Bubbles could’ve sworn she saw his eyes twitch briefly in Brick’s direction. “Apologize.” He looked up. “Though I am gonna say I wasn’t the only dumbass out there yesterday.”  
  
Bubbles could sense Will’s shoulders going taut, and she gripped at his hand, her attention torn between the two of them.  
  
“I’m not going to lie and say I’m not a little bit jealous of you, man,” Boomer continued, and suddenly Bubbles was fervently thinking that of all the superpowers she had, being able to scream into other people’s brains with your own brain would’ve been a really handy one to have. She had to settle for glaring daggers at Boomer, which, miraculously enough, appeared to work. “But I’ll back off.”  
  
He gave them a thin smile and saluted them before turning away and joining the rest of the school traffic.  
  
The two of them blinked.  
  
“Huh,” Will said thoughtfully, his expression still suspicious.  
  
Bubbles didn't blame him.

.~.

Gym was spent out on the track, and Bubbles watched Boomer out of the corner of her eye as the class warmed up. Neither of them really had to, but she did a few perfunctory stretches before squaring her shoulders and approaching him.  
  
He was going through the stretching motions too, but paused as she came up. He smiled.  
  
“What's up?” His open expression took her by surprise; she'd expected him to look more... bitter, or disappointed.  
  
“Hey, I just... wanted to thank you for this morning.” She took a deep inhale and sucked her lips in between her teeth, nodding.  
  
“Yeah, that was pretty classy of me, wasn't it?” he said innocently, grinning. He stood and looked at her expectantly.  
  
She chewed her lip and hunched her shoulders up. “So...”  
  
“Was that it?”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much.” Bubbles nodded.  
  
“Oh.” He blinked, looking surprised.  
  
“What...?”  
  
“No, I just thought you were coming over to apologize yourself,” he said airily, waving it off.  
  
It was her turn to look surprised. “What? Me? For what?”  
  
He stifled a snort; she wasn't sure if he was offended or not. “For calling me a bad person.”  
  
She tilted her head, eyeing him as he crossed his arms and waited.  
  
“I don't... I don't know if I can yet,” she said slowly, then shook her head vigorously. “I mean, no offense, I just... I'm not so sure I'm wrong about that yet.”  
  
He looked skyward and shrugged. “Ouch. But fair enough.” He scrutinized her for a second. “I did say I was sorry about trying to kill you, right?”  
  
“You did, thank you,” she affirmed, nodding.  
  
“Ah, well, I've done all I can, then.” The coach was starting to herd the students to the starting line to time their mile runs.  
  
Bubbles held up a hand in peace. “Well, I'll see you.”  
  
“I hope so,” he said as she started to turn, and she paused to give him a warning glance. He looked amused. “Don't tell me you think I'm totally giving up on you?”  
  
“What—” She gaped at him. “You were _lying_?!”  
  
“This morning? No way. There's kind of a difference between apologizing for attacking your boyfriend and apologizing for liking you—”  
  
“You said you'd back off!” she hissed, trying not to draw the attention of the other students.  
  
“I said I'd back off,” he affirmed, nodding. “Didn't say I'd give up, though, did I?”  
  
Bubbles blinked, stunned. Finally she turned and took her place behind the rest of the students at the starting line.  
  
“That's what I mean when I say I'm not sure you're any good,” she muttered. He leaned in, close enough for his breath to disturb the hair at the nape of her neck.  
  
“I don't care what you think as long as it's about me,” he sang in a low voice as the coach fired his cap gun into the air.  
  
.~.  
  
The past week had not been fun. The past month, in fact, had not been fun. Brick wasn't sure why, but for being the shortest month of the year, February sure had taken its time.  
  
 _Last week_ , he thought, ignoring Blossom's eyes searing holes into him as the World Area Studies teacher wrapped up the lesson. Next week would be the first one of March, which took it down to three months before he was out of here, hopefully for good. Three months. _Three months_.  
  
“Thanks for a great discussion today, class,” the teacher said, giving Brick and Blossom a significant, satisfied look. The two of them smiled thinly and nodded. “See you next Tuesday!”  
  
Finally, the bell rang, and Brick swung out of the classroom with Blossom on his heels.  
  
“Excuse me,” she hissed as she strode up, keeping up with him step for step. “But maybe you’d like to explain _exactly what happened back there_.”  
  
“What garbage are you spewing now?” Brick snorted, eyes straight ahead as he shouldered through the crowds. She scoffed, matching his pace.  
  
“More like evidence. You and your brothers drop back into town, completely unexpected after years and years of absence without so much as a backstory, spout off about ‘bigger things—’”  
  
“Oh, please, are you still on about that—”  
  
“And in a simple _high school class_ discussion, start expounding upon war strategy and Machiavellian principles—”  
  
“First off, The Prince is on the required reading list for any high school English class,” Brick said shortly. “Second, it is a college level course we’re both in, so you’d think this type of discussion wouldn’t be _discouraged_ between students who are presumably intellectually superior to the average high school student—”  
  
“Intellectually superior or no!” Blossom grabbed Brick by the arm and spun him around to face her, bringing them both to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway, much to the surrounding students’ chagrin. “Do you really expect me to believe that any high school student spends as much time as you _clearly_ do studying and scrutinizing exactly what actions one would take to come out the victor in full-fledged international warfare?!”  
  
Brick narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, _clearly_ you haven’t been surrounding yourself with the particular caliber of high school student that—”  
  
“There you go, insulting my home again!” Blossom snapped.  
  
“Maybe if you stopped _annoying_ me with your ridiculous claims about being ‘up to something,’ I’d stop insulting you!” Brick snapped back. “But I’m finding it pretty impossible at this point!”  
  
“You’re one to talk about impossibilities! Because I don’t see any _possible_ way you aren’t scheming or plotting, the way you carry on and flaunt your knowledge about—”  
  
“Maybe it’s a _hobby_! Maybe I like to _read_! Much in the way you like to play the part of the Noble Hero and pander to the press—”  
  
“Taking potshots at someone who makes an effort to better this world—”  
  
“And build up her public profile in the interest of primetime news coverage—”  
  
This was quickly escalating into an all out shoutfest in the middle of the hallway, and now kids were slowing as they approached the pair, instinctively opening into a circle to gawk and stare. Blossom and Brick barely acknowledged their presence.  
  
Blossom blew her hair out of her face, her pretty features flushed with anger. “You aren’t exactly in any position to be critical—”  
  
“Of someone who’s done nothing but criticize me for engaging in activity _that I’m not actually engaging in_!” Brick was seething, no trace of his typically aloof demeanor present in that tense, taut frame. “You make all these ridiculous accusations with no real evidence to back it up! Isn’t that Crime 101 in Misguided Superhero Justice Academy—”  
  
“The mere facts of your history, disappearance, and presence now are all the evidence _anyone_ would need!”  
  
“ _RRRGH_!” Brick leaned in, eyes angry and teeth gritted. “I’m so _sick_ of you, you little parasite!”  
  
Blossom’s face was in his, spitting mad. “‘Parasite?!’ _I’m_ the parasite?! More like pest control! And I know a cockroach when I see one!”  
  
“Are you serious?! _Did you seriously just call me a cockroach_?!”  
  
“ _I don’t care if it sounds stupid_!” Blossom shouted. “ _I’m really angry right now and you’re a very irritating person_!”  
  
.~.  
  
“What the hell is that racket?” Buttercup grumbled, trying to muscle her way through the mass of stock still students. “People! Seriously! Move it!”  
  
“Why isn’t anyone moving?” Bubbles followed the trail her sister was carving as she bodily hurled people out of the way.  
  
“Geez,” Buttercup panted, whacking a particularly stubborn group of freshmen who seemed hellbent on _not moving_. “You’d think there was a friggin’ fight or something, the way these guys are—”  
  
Bubbles squinted. “Is it just me, or does that sound like—”  
  
“Oh my God.” Buttercup suddenly stopped. Bubbles peered over her shoulder, wondering why her sister wasn’t moving into the odd, open clearing.  
  
“Wha—”  
  
And then she saw Blossom, prim, proper Blossom, and Brick, grim, stoic Brick, in the center of it, engaged in a screaming match that seemed to be escalating at a ridiculously high rate in terms of fervor and volume.  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
.~.  
  
“What the shit is going on? _Could you maybe get the fuck out of my way_?!” Butch shoved an entire line of students to the wall and scoffed. “Fuck, man.”  
  
“Um,” Mitch remarked, eyeing the dazed students as he stepped over them. One of the twins mouthed an apology at the kids on the floor. “What’s up with you?” Butch looked around, trying to figure out where the hell she’d gone.  
  
“Nothing. People just _piss me off_.” He elbowed another kid in the back, who instantly cried out and buckled to his knees.  
  
“What the hell is up with all these people?” Harry was heard calling from the back. “What the hell is going on?”  
  
“There’s a fight,” one of the kids in the crowd said, possibly in an attempt to avoid getting trampled by Butch. Butch stopped trampling and looked intrigued.  
  
“Fight?”  
  
“Not an interesting one,” another student responded. “Just a shouting one.”  
  
“Pft.” Butch rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t qualify as a fight. _I_ can show you a fucking fight.” He resumed shoving his way through the crowd, leaving a pained trail of convulsing students behind him.  
  
Mitch jumped over several more victims and suggested, “You know, you do have superpowers, genius. Why don’t you just fucking fly?”  
  
“… Touché, Mitch,” Butch said after a moment’s thought, and rose into the air.  
  
He stopped, catching sight of the source of this crazy, immovable crowd.  
  
Blossom and Brick were nearly at each other’s throats, with Bubbles and Buttercup unsuccessfully trying to break it up. Across the hall, he saw Boomer coming down a stairwell. He stopped at first sight of the crowd, then dropped his books upon spotting what the crowd was fixated on.  
  
Butch’s eyes drifted back to Buttercup, taking in the surroundings and feeling the airy high of promise overwhelming his spirits.  
  
That familiar, manic twist of a grin curled onto his face. What an opportunity.  
  
.~.  
  
“Would you two _stop it_?!” Bubbles cried, clutching at Blossom’s arm.  
  
“Really!” Buttercup voiced her assent. “Who’s supposed to be the mature one, now?”  
  
“ _You evil maniac_!” Blossom shouted at Brick, completely ignoring her sisters.  
  
“Oh, come on,” Buttercup snorted.  
  
“ _You annoying little bitch_!” Brick snarled, and suddenly Buttercup’s eyes flashed and she whirled on him, shoving him back.  
  
“Cool it, _Brick_ ,” she said darkly.  
  
The look on his face was equally threatening. “I’ll cool it when your sister _lays off_.”  
  
Before Blossom could respond, Buttercup cut in. “My sister may be annoying, but she’s got a point.” She shifted her weight and narrowed her eyes. “If I had a track record like yours, I wouldn’t argue with anyone about not being trustworthy.”  
  
Brick recognized that mien, the type one settled into just before going into physical battle.  
  
“Buttercup,” he said quietly, and a chill washed over the hall. “I don’t want to fight you.”  
  
She didn’t look the least bit fazed. “Fighting me, fighting my sister,” Buttercup muttered, crossing her arms. “What’s the difference?”  
  
“There isn’t.” Boomer suddenly appeared at Brick’s side, face calm and smiling. “He doesn’t want to fight either of you.”  
  
“Didn’t look it to me,” Buttercup said, voice ominous.  
  
“You know, Buttercup, this really isn’t any of your business,” Blossom interjected, shaking Bubbles off.  
  
“No, Blossom, I wanna know too.” Buttercup’s attention flickered between Brick and Boomer. “What _are_ you boys up to?”  
  
Bubbles, sensing a shift in the situation, moved away from one sibling to tug the dark-haired one back.   
  
“Buttercup, that’s enough.”  
  
Brick suddenly seemed to grow taller while Boomer just shrugged and laughed.  
  
“Nothing, unless you count being in high school as ‘up to’ something. Now look,” he said, gently pushing Brick back and stepping forward. “We’re not—”  
  
“Cut the crap,” Buttercup spat, and Bubbles jerked her back further.  
  
“We’re not fighting anymore!” she said shrilly.  
  
“We weren’t fighting in the first place,” Blossom said, eyes set on Brick. “All I did was ask you a question.”  
  
“And all I did was answer it,” he growled, stepping forward.  
  
“That wasn’t an answer,” she hissed.  
  
“ _I said we weren’t fighting_ ,” Bubbles said desperately, not sure who to grab now.  
  
“This isn’t a fight,” Brick seethed through his clenched jaw. “You’re on a witch hunt.”  
  
“Well, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, guess what? I call it a duck,” Blossom said loftily.  
  
“What about a confused swan?” Boomer said a little anxiously. “I hear that happens, sometimes. Maybe once.”  
  
“That was a fairy tale,” Bubbles pointed out.  
  
“That was a joke,” Boomer explained, a little offended. “I do know how to make those, you know.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Butch, aren’t you getting in on this?” Mitch asked as Butch floated above the heads of the crowd, observing the commotion from their end of the hall.  
  
Butch snickered, not looking at him. “I’m getting in on something.”  
  
“Is this about Buttercup again? Dude, I think it’d be better if you just let her be, ‘cause sooner or later she’s gonna—”  
  
Butch suddenly shot off like a bat out of hell, aimed directly at Buttercup.  
  
.~.  
  
“Listen,” Brick threatened, eyes narrowed and dark as he glared at Blossom and Buttercup, “the two of you better back off before—”  
  
“Before what?” Buttercup interrupted, the muscles in her arms visibly tensing. “Go ahead and finish that—”  
  
Suddenly there was a burst of green light, and as they all reached up to shield their eyes Butch snaked in amongst them, hooking a hand under the back hem of Buttercup’s shirt to strip it from her as he zoomed by.  
  
He soared to one end of the hall and stopped, whipping around to survey the damage with an anticipatory smile creeping onto his face.  
  
.~.  
  
“Oh, _shit_ ,” Mitch whispered, eyes stricken and jaw agape.  
  
Floyd and Lloyd were stammering beside him. “What… what the fuck… _did he just_ —”  
  
“What?” Harry’s voice was somewhere behind them, trying to catch up. “What just happened?”  
  
Mitch instantly turned and started to muscle his way through the crowd, running in the opposite direction.  
  
“We need to get out of here, guys! We need to get the fuck out of here _right now_!”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick blinked and furrowed his brow as his eyes re-focused on a… a…  
  
His jaw dropped and his eyes went wide as he took in Buttercup’s top half, now covered by only a black bra.  
  
Buttercup, who had been staring at Brick, followed his line of vision and seemed to choke.  
  
There was no laughter. There was nothing. Only the silence that pierces the air when everyone knows that death is near.  
  
“Oh my God,” Boomer whispered.  
  
“Oh _no_ ,” Bubbles squeaked.  
  
A bright red Buttercup let out a piercing shriek and dropped to the floor, covering her chest with her knees.  
  
Brick heard a low cackle starting up from behind him, and he twisted to see a triumphant Butch on his back in the air, laughing as he clutched Buttercup’s shirt in one hand.   
  
Brick’s eyes flashed red as they narrowed at his brother, rage bubbling up inside him—  
  
“You…” Buttercup snarled, and the hatred in it, the _threat_ , the mere sound of her voice sent the bevy of dumbfounded students running and screaming.  
  
A stricken Blossom seemed to suddenly come to, and she hastily reached for Buttercup, a second too late.  
  
Buttercup whipped around, snatching Bubbles’ jacket from her arms, and jerked it on as she took off after Butch, the force of her flight stripping the entire hallway’s locker doors off their hinges.  
  
With a maniacal chortle, Butch bulleted off down the next passageway.  
  
Without warning, Brick shot off after both of them.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Boomer whimpered, and followed suit.  
  
“Bubbles, come on!” Blossom cried, grabbing her sister by the arm. “We have to _stop her_!”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup fumbled blindly with the buttons of her sister’s jacket, straining to keep Butch in her line of vision as they sped through hallway after hallway of screaming students. She felt compelled to add her voice to the mix.  
  
“I’m going to fucking _kill you_ , Butch!” she screamed, so loudly her vocal cords felt like they were being ripped to shreds.  
  
The only response was an echo of a laugh in her direction. That bright green streak of his spiraled down another hall so abruptly she lost the slightest bit of momentum as she rounded the corner. Cursing under her breath, she zigzagged through the crowds, dodging student after student and sending up a storm of loose papers trailing after her.  
  
 _Where the hell did he_ —  
  
She stopped suddenly, feeling the burst of wind from her flight finally catch up to her. Her hair whipped into her face, and she shook it clear, eyes trained on Butch standing outside of the glass double doors at the school’s entrance.  
  
He sneered, holding up her shirt between two hands, then ignited it in a burst of green flame, his grin spreading as its ashes dropped to the floor.  
  
She gritted her teeth and shot towards him. He took off as she exploded through the doors, sending glass flying in a flurry of tinkling shards.  
  
Now the space opened up before them, and Butch zoomed off into the sky, Buttercup hot on his heels. She could see him more clearly, and the unmistakable glee that lit his face—well, to be frank, it really pissed her off.  
  
She shot a blast of energy at him and he spun away from it easily, shooting her a devilish grin as he did so.  
  
God _damn it_ , he really pissed her off.  
  
The wind whipped the collar of her jacket open wide, and she hastily did up another button.  
  
“ _Come on_ , sugar!” Butch crowed at her, sending another current of rage surging through her. “ _This is pathetic_! _Why don't you give me a taste of what you can_ really _do_?!”  
  
Rage, rage, rage, that was all she felt, felt it multiplying in her, fueling her clenched jaw and curled fists. She shuddered under the weight of it, lost herself in it for a second, and then it piled up behind her eyes, more and more until it spilled into two sharp, stinging beams, a physical manifestation of her heated glare. Her smile was building the very moment she did it; she knew instinctively that they wouldn’t miss—  
  
Suddenly they bounced back on her, and she gasped, flinging herself out of the way. _Impossible_. She had the sharpest eyes of her sisters, was the quickest draw—  
  
She halted and had to reassess. Butch was stopped, floating in the air, one arm extended out as he sized her up from behind a flickering sheet of green.  
  
 _Damn_. She’d forgotten he could do that.  
  
He instantly hunched his shoulders and flicked his wrist, sending his shield in her direction, and it smacked into her—she could feel her teeth practically knocking themselves into her brain, it’d hit her so hard. The wind picked up, flattening her against the barrier, and she could see him on the other side, following her as he aimed her down, rushing past buildings now. He would crush her against the concrete any second—  
  
With a heavy grunt, she bent her knees against the wind, kicked off, and hit the roughened asphalt a few feet away from where his shield collided with the ground, its impact forcing a shallow pit into the street. The air exploded into frantic car horns and screeching tires as car after car drove into the giant pothole, still crackling with faint green sparks. Buttercup scrambled to her feet amidst the mess of traffic, eyes grim as she scanned the area for Butch, and several cars swerved up onto the sidewalk to avoid hitting her. One was going too fast to swerve in time, and without sparing it a look she jammed her foot into its bumper, stopping it cold. An echo traveled down the street—first the tinkling crash of the bumper collisions, then the soft _poof_ of airbags bursting out of the steering wheels of the several cars behind it.  
  
She yanked her foot out of the stunned man’s car and twisted, searching, searching. She gritted her teeth and swore.  
  
“Where the _fuck_ are you, you stupid son of a—”  
  
There was a new, much more sudden crash to her immediate left, and she turned to see a giant hole in the side of a parking structure, concrete crumbling to the ground. She instantly shot off towards it.  
  
A car came flying out of the cavity, and she jerked to a stop, instinct directing her to extend her arms for it, catch it, save whoever was in it; the metal crumpled in her hands, dug hard into her skin but didn’t break it, and a quick glance confirmed there wasn’t a single body in the car. A new set of screams and more blaring horns snapped her to attention, and she saw two more empty cars careening out of the parking garage. She zipped to first one side and then the other, catching the two cars on top of the first, her groan less of a reaction to the weight of the stacked vehicles than a generally pissed off Buttercup noise at his attempts to stall her. She flung the stack of cars down crashing into an empty metered parking spot below her, and suddenly a whole string of two, three, four, five cars soared out of the garage—  
  
“Oh, _fuck you_!” she shouted, and blasted through the lot of them as she flew into the gaping hole. She spotted Butch snatching another car, his sneer lighting up his face as he swung it around and struck it against the side of her head.  
  
She bit back a cry and hit the concrete shoulder first, rolling to a stop against the tires of a parked car. Her vision was blurry, just a bit; she pushed herself up, trying to blink her eyes into focus. There was a really annoying sound echoing in the garage…  
  
She shook her head and blinked, then glared. It was his laughter. She shot to her feet and grabbed a car in either hand, their parking brakes screaming in protest as she dragged them along the concrete, stalking up to his form, doubled over in laughter.  
  
“Oh, _man_! You should’ve seen the way you went rolling across the ground, it was _fuckin’ hilarious_!” he choked out through teary eyes.  
  
“Must’ve missed that part,” she muttered, and raised one of the cars over her head, snapping it in half against the floor above them.  
  
His laughter came to an abrupt stop and he charged her, knocking the cars out of her hands as he sent them crashing through the concrete to one floor below. An SUV was speeding up through the garage as they landed, and Buttercup cried out in shock as it rolled over her body and smacked Butch in the head, rolling him off her. She kicked the vehicle away and stood as the driver ran off screaming, grabbing Butch and throwing him against the far wall.  
  
“You think you know funny, asswipe?” she snapped, marching up to him as he straightened. The muscles in her arm tensed, curled into a fist. “ _I’ll show you fucking funny_.”  
  
“I bet you could show me a lot of things,” he snickered, rolling his head from side to side and relaxing against the concrete. He started to laugh again.  
  
Her lip curled and she backhanded him, relishing the cessation of laughter and the way his head snapped first off her hand and then off the wall.  
  
“See _that_ , fucker?” she hissed at him. He took a deep breath and rolled his head back. He knit his brow, pursed his lips in thought.  
  
“Hm. Maybe you oughtta show me that one again.”  
  
She gritted her teeth and punched him, and again his head snapped once, twice. Again he rolled it back. This time he put a hand in his mouth, brought it out to examine it, then spit on the ground at her feet. He smirked at her.  
  
“Again,” he purred.  
  
One of her fists connected hard with his ribs and the other backhanded him again against the wall. A fine line of red flicked along the concrete, and he stared at it, mystified.  
  
She snatched him by the collar and slammed him for good measure.  
  
“See it _now_?” she jeered, not feeling the least bit of guilt or sympathy, and glad that Blossom wasn’t around to berate her for it.  
  
He blinked, eyes still trained on the line of his blood on the wall, and tongued the cut on his lip that had birthed it. Suddenly he smiled, a wild, crazed smile, and directed his attention to Buttercup, his dark green eyes glittering brightly.  
  
“Yes,” he whispered, and for some inexplicable reason Buttercup felt a sudden chill creep down her spine. “I do.”  
  
He kicked her in the chest, simultaneously knocking the wind out of her and sending her flying to the other end of the garage. She hit the wall of concrete, hard, and fissures crackled out from the point of impact, spilling dust onto her. She coughed, flinching as she rose to her feet, then stiffened as she heard—  
  
Butch rammed into her, busting her clear through the wall and into the glass windows of the building on the other side of the street. Screams sounded all around them; they’d crashed into an office building, sending documents and computers scattering after the retreating cubicle workers.  
  
Buttercup swung him around and slammed him against the floor, kneed him in the gut. He headbutted her, hard enough to send her backwards, and then he grabbed the collar of her jacket and yanked her down, jamming his own knee into her sternum.  
  
She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and tasted blood in her mouth. Wincing, she brought one of her fists back and then decked him solidly in the head. It distracted him long enough to loosen his grip on her, and she grabbed him by the hair and took off, taking care to drag him along the floor as she flew back through the shattered windows into the open air.  
  
A hand of his suddenly reached around and crudely groped at her front, and she gasped and flung him with unprecedented force into the street below them.  
  
“I’m gonna fucking kill ‘im,” she growled, her jaw clenched as she landed amidst the clouds of dust that had mushroomed up when he connected with the ground. “I swear to God, I’m gonna—”  
  
A blast of green shot out from the smoke and singed into her shoulder. She stifled a cry and buckled to the ground, instantly bringing a hand up to assess the damage—her injury screamed as she gingerly touched it, and she snapped her hand back, hissing a breath.  
  
“That’s more like it,” Butch’s voice rumbled as he emerged from the smoke, his eyes dazzling green despite the fact that he looked worse for the wear.  
  
Buttercup’s own eyes were bright and alert as he slowly approached, and she straightened, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the excruciating protest of her wound.  
  
“What’s more _like it_?” she seethed.  
  
“Fighting back.” He cocked his head, curiously, as if he was examining an insect. “I gotta tell you, I was getting sick of this whole, ‘Too Good to Fight’ bullshit.” He stopped a few steps away from her and nodded at the tatters of fabric across her shoulder that exposed the bleeding flesh underneath. “Does it hurt?”  
  
She glared at him.  
  
“I barely feel it.”  
  
Suddenly he flew forward, his fist connecting with the raw, bleeding skin, and she shrieked as he shoved her down onto the uneven asphalt, grinding his fist into the red. Her legs thrashed and scraped against the ground; somehow the pain was overwhelming, she was going blind and crazy with the strength of it, what the fuck was laced in his energy beams—  
  
Tears were spilling out of her eyes and yet against all plausibility she managed to bite back another scream, sucking in desperate, whimpering breaths between her teeth as she tried to focus on the sky, on anything other than the pain or those infuriating green eyes of his, those stupid, glittering green eyes—  
  
“Feel that?” he sneered, and ground his fist so hard her vision actually tunneled. A tiny cry slipped from her throat. His smirk twisted, a sick little smile lighting up his face.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Buttercup hated the way he spoke, the way he looked, the way he and his brothers had taken her life and her friends away and left her with nothing, not even her dignity. She hated _him_. He absolutely could not take more, no, she was not going to let him have any more, and definitely not this. She wasn’t going to give him this satisfaction.  
  
Steam started to issue from the corners of her eyes where her tears were beginning to evaporate, and he blinked, momentarily distracted before her eyebeams hit him square in the face.  
  
“ _Fuck_!” The sound of his exclamation of pain, of him hitting the ground yards away felt better than any trophy or game she’d ever won, even better than the sudden release of pressure on her now near-numb injury.  
  
She dragged herself to her feet, tested the side of her that was wounded—ugh, that arm definitely didn’t want to move. Fuck. Well, thank God she had two of them.  
  
His laughter cut through the air, and she fumed, sucking in a breath and blowing all the smoke that surrounded them away. He was crouched on the ground, holding a hand to one of his eyes.  
  
“I knew it,” he breathed, and looked up at her. Horror suddenly displaced her anger, and she stared, speechless.  
  
He stood and faced her, one eye shimmering green and the other seared white.  
  
 _Oh my God_ , she thought to herself, cold panic wrenching in her gut. _I’ve blinded him, oh my God, oh my God_ —  
  
And then the bastard laughed again, and whatever sympathy she might’ve begun to entertain for him dissolved. What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
“I knew it,” he said again, a wild grin illuminating his face.  
  
“Knew what?” she demanded, voice retaining the panic that had overtaken her as she stared at his blind eye.  
  
“When I watched you fight,” he sneered. “I knew you—I _knew_.”  
  
“ _What_?!” she screeched. She couldn’t stand the way he was looking at her, like he could see right through her when nobody could, nobody _did_ —  
  
He rushed her again, and she reflexively spun out of the way. He adjusted his angle mid-flight, but his depth perception seemed a little off now that he was only operating on one good eye, and in the split second he lost sight of her she had wheeled around behind him. She swung her leg up and kicked him away, sending him flying towards a street lamp.  
  
She expected him to dent the metal, but he rolled to the side and missed it, just barely. He regained his bearings and shot back towards her, and without hesitating she blasted a manhole cover at her feet open, diving into it as he sailed overhead.  
  
He halted, twisting around to see where she’d disappeared, when the ground rumbled and Buttercup burst out of the asphalt, uppercutting him into the air.  
  
She landed as tons of water began spraying out of the cavity, five stories high, soaking her and the abandoned street and Butch too, when he finally fell back to the ground.  
  
He coughed and spit, steadying himself on his hands and knees. Buttercup felt a need to end this.  
  
“Give up,” she called out. “You might as well; I could do this all day.”  
  
“Glad to hear it,” he said in a chipper voice, and stood up, spreading his arms wide. “Show me. Come on and put my other eye out, even.”  
  
She took a deep, furious breath, then shot forward. She’d show him, she’d show this _fucker_ , all right—  
  
A sudden burst of red rocketed across her flight path, and she abruptly stopped, watching as Brick grabbed his brother by the throat and slammed him into the side of a building, his eyes glowing red.  
  
The sight stunned her, and she hung back.  
  
Brick had one hand at Butch’s throat and was holding him a good foot off the ground, his expression twisted in disgust. His eyes were completely red, still glowing, still hadn’t reverted back to normal. Butch had grabbed his brother’s arm and was scraping his feet against the wall he was pinned to, gasping for breath.  
  
“ _Buttercup_!”  
  
Buttercup snapped to attention as her sisters landed on either side of her, and she was suddenly aware of how terrible she must look.  
  
“Oh my God, Buttercup,” Bubbles whispered, tentatively peering at her damaged shoulder.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Buttercup said, distracted. Blossom had caught sight of Brick and Butch, and Buttercup followed her gaze.  
  
The sound of Butch’s strained voice echoed in the area.  
  
“Brick,” he wheezed, “could you… ease up on the windpipe, maybe—”  
  
Brick’s grip tightened, and Butch threw his head back, gasping for air. “Oh yeah,” he choked out, “that’s _much_ better—”  
  
“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” Brick snarled, and the sound of his voice sent a chill down the girls’ collective spines. “What the _fuck_ —what the _fuck_ were you thinking?!” He suddenly crooked his arm and slammed Butch back against the wall again, fracturing the concrete. Butch made a strangled grunt, wincing.  
  
“Do you _listen_ to me when I talk to you?!” Brick snapped, and slammed Butch again. “What the _fuck did I tell you_?! _What the fuck did I say, you dumbfuck_?!”  
  
Buttercup winced as Brick punctuated each question with a whack, winced each time he brought Butch forward and struck him back against the concrete. Butch’s grip on his brother’s immovable wrist began to slacken, and shit—Buttercup could see it now, the dark red dripping down the wall, coating Butch’s blind eye as it flowed. This wasn’t right; someone should do something—  
  
“ _Brick_!” Blossom was suddenly running to the boys, voice desperate. “Stop!”  
  
Those demonic eyes blinked, and he turned them on Blossom. The intensity of his glare stopped her cold ten feet away, and she swallowed, pulling back.  
  
“Stay out of this,” Brick warned, and turned his attention back to Butch, the red glow in his eyes subsiding just enough to distinguish the irises, the pupils. Butch pawed weakly at Brick’s wrist, his breathing wet and strained.  
  
There was a resigned sigh behind the girls, and the three of them turned to see Boomer hovering, an unreadable expression on his face. Without making eye contact with any of them, he floated towards his brothers, coming to within arm’s length of his leader.  
  
“Brick,” he said quietly, and those red eyes flicked briefly in his direction. “Come on. There’s an audience and everything.”  
  
The fury in Brick's eyes faded, slowly, but his grip didn’t waver. He looked at Butch, who wasn't even making much of an effort to struggle now, and then threw him harshly to the ground.  
  
The sudden, shuddering gasp for air twisted like a knife in the girls’ guts. Butch’s limbs quavered as he tried to sit up, Brick looming over him looking like he’d rather kick his brother while he was down.  
  
“I hope that was worth the shit that’s coming your way,” Brick said darkly, and Blossom tensed.  
  
Butch spat a dark, sticky stream of red on the ground, looked up at his brother, and…  
  
 _Grinned_.  
  
“It’s always worth it,” Butch rasped, his voice like a scratch on a record. Brick narrowed his eyes and turned, stalking past Boomer.  
  
“Grab him and bring him home,” he ordered, not looking at the girls as he started to float. “I doubt that fucker can fly with all that energy his body’s wasting on healing his injuries, not to mention his fucking eye.”  
  
Buttercup felt a tiny twinge of guilt.  
  
“Brick!” Blossom found her voice again, and now it was devoid of fear. “What is the _matter_ with you?!”  
  
Brick whirled on her and jabbed a glowing fist in her direction.  
  
“And _you_.”  
  
Alarm flickered across Blossom’s face as she glanced at his mitt, glowing red. His face was twisted into a humorless snarl.  
  
“You. _Fuck off_.”  
  
He took flight, and all three girls let out a collective breath.  
  
The debris under Boomer’s feet crackled as he threw one of Butch’s arms across his shoulders, drawing the girls’ attention again. His brother’s blood was dripping onto his shirt, into his pretty blonde hair. Buttercup felt Bubbles stifle a shudder.  
  
Butch came to gradually and swiped at the blood on his face. He caught sight of Buttercup’s gaze drifting to him, and he sneered at her. She went rigid.  
  
“See you guys tomorrow,” Boomer muttered, and took off, Butch in tow.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick practically stripped the hinges off their front door when he barged in, livid. He made a beeline for the training room, shucking his sweater in the process and muttering obscenities under his breath.  
  
Boomer and Butch showed up not long after, awkwardly maneuvering through the door. Boomer kicked it closed behind them and let Butch pull away and stumble towards the kitchen.  
  
“Pretty fucking smart of you,” he reprimanded.  
  
“Aw, fuck you,” Butch grumbled, blinking at him with his good eye. Boomer nodded at the not-so-good one.  
  
“How’d that happen?”  
  
“She got me with her eyebeams.” Butch brought a hand up to the eye in question.  
  
His brother’s eyes widened in shock as he joined Butch in the kitchen and began rummaging through a cabinet for some Tylenol.  
  
“ _Shit_. In the eye? Seriously? That’s brutal.” He lifted up a bottle to examine it and paused. “Though, to her credit, you probably deserved it. Here.”  
  
“Tylenol?” Butch winced as he took the bottle from him. “Are you fucking kidding me? Tell you what, I got some Vicodin in my room—”  
  
Boomer’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you weren’t supposed to—” At his brother’s exasperated look Boomer rolled his eyes and zipped over to Butch’s room. “Whatever. Where the fuck do you keep it?”  
  
“In my drawers next to the _weed_ , you _moron_ ,” Butch called after him.  
  
At that moment Brick stormed out of the training room and stabbed a hand in Butch’s direction.  
  
“You. Get the _fuck_ over here.”  
  
“Wait, wait, wait, bro,” Butch said casually, popping open the bottle of Tylenol and inhaling five tablets. “Let me fix myself up first—”  
  
Brick was suddenly in the kitchen with his fists in Butch’s collar, scattering the bottle of Tylenol across the counter.  
  
“ _Now_.”  
  
“Holy shit, Butch!” Boomer’s voice rang out from his room. “How many drugs have you got in here?”  
  
Butch made a face. “Boomer, I swear to God, where is your fucking knack for _subtlety_?”  
  
“What did I tell you when we got here, Butch?” Brick snarled, and Butch groaned.  
  
“About the drugs, man, I’m sorry—”  
  
“ _I don’t give a FUCK about your pills_!” Brick roared. “It’s your _actual_ addiction I’m talking about!”  
  
Boomer reappeared at their side, for the most part unfazed by the angry yelling. “Here’s your Vicodin, man—”  
  
“ _Flush it_ ,” Brick snapped. “Flush _everything_.”  
  
Butch looked a little panicked. “Wait, dude, chill out, no need to get all upset, you know I’m not addicted to that stuff—”  
  
“ _I said I wasn’t talking about your fucking drugs_! _I’m talking about your fucking INABILITY TO LISTEN_! _To obey orders_! _Your insistence on FIGHTING when I specifically tell you NOT TO_! That’s _the fucking addiction I’m talking about_!”  
  
“Don’t they have a medication for that?” Boomer wondered aloud.  
  
“ _I am not in the mood, Boomer_ ,” Brick growled. “Why don’t _you_ tell him what I said at the beginning of the year? _Before we even got here_?”  
  
Boomer leaned against the counter and sighed.  
  
“Not to draw unwanted attention,” he said in a bored tone.  
  
“And _specifically_ whose attention?”  
  
“The girls',” Butch said flatly, and sighed. “I know. I remember.”  
  
Brick narrowed his eyes. “Good.” He roughly shoved Butch in the direction of the training room. Butch took a sharp breath and winced.  
  
“Easy, man, I’m kinda sore—”  
  
“Damn right you’re sore,” Brick said with a scowl. “And you’re gonna get sorer. Get your fucking ass in there. You wanted a fight. Man up, motherfucker. I’m going to give you your fucking fight.”  
  
Butch went tense and made an effort not to swallow. “Oh, come on,” he protested. “I can’t even see out of this eye—”  
  
“Too _fucking_ bad. Guess you shoulda thought about that before, huh?” Brick spat, and grabbed his brother by the collar again, ignoring his grunt of pain and dragging him into the training room. Boomer remained at the counter, arms crossed as he stared at the tiles.  
  
Then he thought about the plethora of marijuana he’d discovered in Butch’s room and brightened considerably.  
  
.~.  
  
“That wasn’t _right_.”  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles watched their leader pace to and fro in the lab, her hands at her temples. The Professor was busy rummaging for bandage dressings; Buttercup hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, and since she’d stopped channeling so much energy into fighting, the X in her body had had a chance to work on boosting the healing process. The injury at her shoulder now had the rough skin of a week-old scab, and within a couple of hours even that would be gone completely.  
  
“I’m not pleased you were fighting, Buttercup,” the Professor sighed, ignoring Blossom. She’d been pacing ever since the girls had burst into the lab. “No matter how much he deserved it.”  
  
Bubbles spoke up. “Professor, he… humiliated her.” Buttercup gave her a sharp look.  
  
“How so?”  
  
“It was just some stupid thing that bugged me,” Buttercup interrupted before Bubbles could answer. “I… lost my temper.” She felt both her sisters’ eyes on her, and she directed her gaze at Blossom, darting a significant glance at the Professor in the process. She knew Blossom would see it—the bags under his eyes, the lines in his brow. He was exhausted lately, spending nearly all his waking hours in the lab downtown as he tried to help the city stabilize the defense system. She couldn’t let him lose more sleep fretting about her stupid fight—and it _was_ stupid, even if she’d felt completely justified in attacking Butch.  
  
Blossom’s shoulders slumped, a visual cue to Buttercup that as unhappy as she was about not saying anything to their father, she agreed. Buttercup turned her attention back to the Professor.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and meant it.  
  
He sighed again, reaching a hand to push her hair out of her eyes. She made a sour face, but refrained from swatting him away.  
  
“I know, honey. But…” He took a deep breath and brought his fingers to his eyelids. “How bad did you say the damage was?”  
  
Buttercup shrank back a bit as Blossom stiffly replied, “Fifteen city blocks torn up, damage to the largest public parking structure in the area, all the windows of one office building floor shattered to bits—plus whatever data they lost in the process—”  
  
“What kind of business was it?” the Professor interrupted.  
  
“Investment banking,” Blossom said, cringing.  
  
“Oh my God, not the giant JS, Inc. building,” he moaned.  
  
Blossom bit her lip and nodded, watching as her father's face went gray.  
  
“I hope they have that backed up properly,” he finally sighed.  
  
“And a water main burst. Flooded a major road and disrupted water service to a number of apartment buildings, some restaurants, and a hospital. They don’t expect to have that restored until early tomorrow morning. It’s affected thousands of people, probably more if you count the investment bank’s clients…”  
  
Buttercup kept her eyes trained on her knees and her peripheral vision on the Professor’s slacks.  
  
“Oh, Buttercup,” he exhaled, voice tired and defeated. “And you girls had gotten so good at containing city damage. You realize that’s more than the past two years’ worth of monster attacks?”  
  
“Yes,” she mumbled, hating Butch. She hoped he’d be blind in one eye forever.  
  
“I guess I’ll be meeting with Principal Keane next week,” he said under his breath.  
  
“Oh, and the school. You forgot the damage to the school,” Bubbles added, and Buttercup winced, dreading what was to come on Monday.  
  
 _-end Ch. 2-_


	3. Sixty-Six Thousand Miles An Hour, or An Act Of Brilliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: For mathkid and JoJoDancer, who keep me working harder, better, faster, stronger, more than ever hour after hour work is never over. 3/20/11 update – Fixed the formatting issues; breaks now appear as they should. Lynn(e)'s name has been changed to Melody per xxlonelyxgrlxx's catch (thank you!).

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester  
March - Sixty-Six Thousand Miles An Hour** or **An Act Of Brilliance**  
 _-sbj-_  
  
The door to the school office swung open, drawing everyone's attention. Buttercup swallowed, her eyes wide.  
  
Brick led a ragged looking Butch into the office, meeting the eyes of each of the adults in turn—Ms. Keane, Ms. Bellum, and finally the Professor, the weight of whose hand was heavy on Buttercup's shoulder. Unlike Buttercup, who hadn't a scratch on her, Butch looked like he'd barely healed at all. Bandages were wrapped around his mitts, his head—Buttercup bit her lip as her eyes settled on the bandages covering the eye she'd—  
  
“I'm sorry Mr. Smith can't be here,” Brick said, stepping aside as Butch sat stiffly in the other empty chair. He was moving a little awkwardly, and seemed to be holding his breath until he settled, exhaling as he sat back and kicked his legs out.  
  
Ms. Keane sighed. “Brick, I was very clear in my instructions—”  
  
“You were, Ms. Keane,” he interrupted, his tone carrying a note of finality to it. “But Mr. Smith is a very busy man, and, unfortunately, unavailable.”  
  
Ms. Bellum spoke up. “Brick, I'm afraid we can't really discuss what we're going to do to rectify this situation without your legal guardian here—”  
  
“Mr. Smith and I have, in the past, discussed how we personally approach matters of this variety,” Brick said slowly, choosing his words carefully. His gaze darkened, and he glanced at Butch, who was staring resolutely forward. “Believe it or not, this isn't the first time something like this has happened.”  
  
“So what _is_ your approach?” the Professor said, clearly unable to look away from the bandages wrapped around Butch's head.  
  
Brick turned an even gaze on him. “We strip Butch of his powers for a while, depending on the... severity of his actions. Occasionally he's placed under house arrest—”  
  
“That's not going to be necessary,” Ms. Keane interrupted.  
  
“I'd advise against it anyway,” Brick agreed. “He tends to suffer from very severe cabin fever. I understand he had a discussion with you, Ms. Keane, about how certain actions of his would affect his athletic participation this semester.”  
  
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. With him and Buttercup.”  
  
Buttercup stiffened, her hands curling into fists.  
  
“As of today they are both dropped from all athletic activities—”  
  
Butch set his jaw while Buttercup jumped to her feet and cried, “ _Ms. Keane_!”  
  
“—for the rest of the semester,” Ms. Keane finished.  
  
Buttercup was frantic, desperate. “That's not _fair_ —”  
  
“Sit down, sweetie,” the Professor said, guiding her back to her seat. She slumped in her chair, staring at the carpet.  
  
Ms. Keane sighed heavily. “We discussed this. I'm a woman of my word. Now,” she said, her face going gray, “as for the school—”  
  
“And the destruction downtown,” Ms. Bellum added.  
  
Buttercup tuned the rest of the room out as they started into specifics of the damage. No athletics. Nothing. Nothing to distract her from her now miserable life, without sports, without the band, without her friends—  
  
She narrowed her eyes and angled her head, just enough to glare at Butch, still staring straight ahead, his jaw tightening every time Brick spoke.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles and Boomer were standing outside the school office, while Blossom paced back and forth in front of the doors. Unlike her leader, Bubbles was making an effort not to eavesdrop and going over her Choir music. Boomer was humming tunelessly, tapping out a beat against his jeans.  
  
Bubbles sighed and set her music folder down, unable to block out his humming, her sister's pacing, or the image of an injured Butch approaching the office. She shuddered, then glanced at Boomer. He looked completely unconcerned, a far cry from the look of resignation that had been on his face when they'd last seen him on Friday.  
  
Her eyes fell on his hair and she remembered the red that had stained it.  
  
He looked at her and smiled, still humming. She took a deep breath.  
  
“Hey.” She inclined her head to the door. “Is he... okay?”  
  
“Butch? Yeah, he's fine. I mean, physically—”  
  
“But he's all... beat up, still. I mean, didn't he, you know, heal...?”  
  
“He will,” Boomer assured her, but it sounded like he was hiding something. He shrugged. “Butch tends to—”  
  
“What about Brick? He was all upset—”  
  
Boomer gave a short laugh. “Yeah, he's got a temper. Butch kinda pissed him off—he's not supposed to do shit like that. Brick told him not to.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and smiled, his eyes on the floor.  
  
It didn't look like a smile, not a real one. Bubbles thought of his hand, reaching for Brick. She looked down at her own hands, fidgeting against her legs. “I'm sorry.”  
  
Boomer laughed again, shook his head. “No, it was Butch's fault, he kinda—”  
  
“I'm sorry I called you a bad person,” she interrupted, raising her voice as she stared at her lap. She watched Blossom's pace slow from the corner of her eye. “I was wrong.” She could feel his eyes on her, could see his stunned expression just at the edge of her line of vision.  
  
“You sure about that?” he said lightly, trying to joke. “I mean, I did try to kill you, which I am sorry about—”  
  
“I'm sure,” she said firmly, biting her lip as she looked up at him. “You're not a bad person. I'm sorry I said it. I wish I hadn't.”  
  
They held each other's gaze for a moment. Boomer was the one to break it. “Bubbles...”  
  
This smile was real and infectious; she laughed.  
  
Then he killed it. “So you want to go out with me sometime?”  
  
She immediately stopped smiling and shot him a look of absolute disgust. Blossom gave them both a look.  
  
“ _Sorry_!” he cried, holding up his hands. “It was worth a shot!”  
  
.~.  
  
“So just so we're all clear,” Ms. Keane announced, all eyes falling on her, “Buttercup and Butch are both dropped from the Athletics department for the remainder of the semester. Butch—” she extended a hand in his direction, “—will be stripped of his powers for the duration of two weeks. Both of them will be spending this week in detention.”  
  
“I still say they shouldn't spend it in the same room,” Brick muttered, loud enough for the room to hear.  
  
“If they don't figure out how to at least tolerate each other's existence now, then the rest of the semester is going to be a lot worse,” Ms. Keane said resolutely. “And,” she added, looking up and making sure she caught Buttercup's and Butch's gaze, “if something like this happens _again_ , they will both be suspended for a period of time to be determined by the extent of their... infraction, as well as placed under house arrest for that period.” She looked around the room. “Agreed?”  
  
Everybody, save for the topics of discussion, nodded.  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Keane,” Ms. Bellum said, scribbling something on her notepad. “Don't worry about the school damages; I'll get in touch with a contractor for you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Ms. Keane rubbed at the bags under her eyes with one hand and waved at Butch and Buttercup with the other. “You two are excused.”  
  
They stood and the group filed out of the office, Bubbles and Boomer rising to join them as Blossom stepped back to give them some room. The Professor pulled Ms. Bellum aside as they went through the door and whispered, “I appreciate your decision about the... damages downtown—”  
  
“Professor,” Ms. Bellum interrupted, patting his arm, “what you and your girls have done—are doing—for this city... we can't put any price on that. Townsville has no business objecting to higher taxes in exchange for all your family has done for us.”  
  
He gave her a thin grin and shook her hand. “Don't suppose I'm exempt from those, am I?”  
  
“Ha. Unfortunately, no.”  
  
He laughed good-naturedly. “I wasn't being serious.”  
  
“See you, girls.” Ms. Bellum waved. “I'll tell the Mayor you said hi.”  
  
Blossom and Bubbles waved back as she made her way down the hall. Buttercup caught Butch furtively glancing at her as she swung her way to the nurse's office and suppressed a disgusted scoff.  
  
“Thank God that's over with. I'll see you girls at home,” the Professor said, kissing Bubbles and clasping a hand on Blossom's shoulder. “Have a good day.” Buttercup felt his arm encircle her, and she let him squeeze her close for a half-hug. “Take it easy, Buttercup,” he whispered, and she grunted assent.  
  
He released her and started for the exit, pausing as he approached the boys. He nodded at their leader. “Brick.”  
  
“Professor Utonium,” the boy responded, inclining his head respectfully. Brick watched him out of the corner of his eye as the Professor left the building.  
  
The six of them stood there for an extended, uncomfortable silence. Brick looked back at Blossom, whose eyes drifted once more from him to an injured Butch.  
  
“Come on, boys,” he ordered quietly, turning away and starting down the hall. Boomer spared Bubbles a quick smile, then trailed his brother. Butch met each of the girls' eyes in turn, settling his gaze on Buttercup last. Suddenly he lifted the bandages over his bad eye, and Blossom and Bubbles winced back in anticipation. Buttercup held her ground, fury building up in her as she stared at him.  
  
His eye was perfectly fine. He chuckled and tossed the bandages at her feet.  
  
“See you later,” he smirked, and turned, limping after his brothers.  
  
.~.  
  
With Basketball having been dropped from their schedules, Buttercup's only class with Butch was Algebra II. She refused to look at him, mostly because she was pretty sure if she did, she'd want to break something. Something of his in particular. It was hard enough for her to focus in class, but the free periods were worse. She couldn't participate in practice anymore, so she just went to the Gym and watched covetously from the bleachers as the teams did their drills. Both the team and the coach were devastated and kept wanting to talk to her about her suspension, which did nothing to improve her mood.  
  
Three-thirty finally rolled around, and she slunk out of the gym to go serve her detention before the final bell could ring, ignoring the walls of busted lockers that flanked her as she made her way down the hall. She nodded at Mrs. Andrews as she walked in.  
  
“Hi, again.”  
  
“Really did a number on the school this time, huh Buttercup?” Mrs. Andrews said in a bored voice, not looking up from her paperback. Well into her sixties, she was probably the oldest teacher in the school and one of the most ineffective, but she refused to retire and the school was reluctant to force her to do so. She had been relegated to teaching the Keyboarding class, itself merely an excuse for students to surf the Internet for an hour and a half. It was an established fact that Mrs. Andrews had never touched a computer in her life.  
  
She also served as the Junior class detention monitor, which meant she saw a lot of Buttercup. Mrs. Andrews had never exuded much interest in getting to know the students on a personal level, and Buttercup was one of the few she actually knew by name.  
  
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Andrews waved at the roomful of desks, still not looking up, and Buttercup dutifully selected one at random. Window seats weren't an option because there were no windows.  
  
She chucked her bag under the seat and exhaled, extending her legs far out from the desk and slouching in her chair. She glanced at the computers lining the tables against the walls, sorely wishing she could jump on one, check her e-mail or something. Previous requests, though, had taught her that asking for permission to do so wouldn't get her anywhere.  
  
The bell rang, and Mrs. Andrews set down her book, rising out of her seat.  
  
“Don't move,” she ordered, and lumbered out of the room. A minute or so went by, and Buttercup was staring at the computers again, wondering if she had enough time to log on and check her e-mail, when the door opened and Butch sauntered into the room.  
  
The misery she'd felt as she sat in the empty bleachers morphed into rage, and she scowled at Butch, who snorted at her. To her relief he sat at the far end of the room.  
  
Another minute went by.  
  
Buttercup glanced at the clock. The team would be assembling in the locker rooms now, she reflected bitterly, and then they'd go out to the gym and the Captain would start them on warming up—  
  
A sudden rustling at the other end of the room summoned her attention, and she looked up just in time to see Butch throw something into Mrs. Andrews' coffee, where it made a soft _plink_.  
  
She was instantly on her feet. “What the hell are you—”  
  
“ _Buttercup_.” Mrs. Andrews appeared in the doorway and glared. “Sit down.”  
  
She pointed at Butch. “Mrs. Andrews—”  
  
“ _Sit down_ ,” Mrs. Andrews said again, and Buttercup planted herself in her seat, frowning.  
  
She gave it another try. “Mrs. An—”  
  
“Hush up,” the woman snapped, and Buttercup gaped.  
  
“But—”  
  
“You hear me speaking English, right? ” Mrs. Andrews sank into her chair and picked up her paperback again. “Now do as you are told and _keep quiet_.”  
  
With a stifled groan of disgust Buttercup sank back in her seat, her head in her hands. She could hear Butch suppressing laughter, and gritted her teeth.  
  
“Wait a second,” Mrs. Andrews suddenly said, peering over her paperback at the two of them. She pointed at the row in front of her. “You two are sitting too far apart. Move up.”  
  
Buttercup's jaw dropped and Butch abruptly stopped laughing.  
  
“Come on. My eyes are old and you're too far apart. Move it.”  
  
The two of them exchanged an unfriendly look. Finally, Buttercup grabbed her bag with a huff and stalked to the front row, making sure there was at least one desk between them as she took her seat.  
  
“That's better,” Mrs. Andrews said as Butch shifted in his chair, wincing. She grabbed her coffee, and Buttercup bit her tongue as she watched the woman gulp it down.  
  
She glared at Butch out of the corner of her eye. She had powers and he didn't, meaning he'd be easy to catch, and whatever was in Mrs. Andrews' drink—  
  
A sudden thump at the front of the room drew her attention, and she looked up to see Mrs. Andrews with her face flat down on the desk. She gasped, clambering out of her seat to the woman's desk.  
  
“Mrs. Andrews!”  
  
“Relax,” Butch said, picking up his stuff and standing. “It's just a sleeping pill.”  
  
Buttercup stopped trying to shake the woman awake and issued a scathing glare in his direction.  
  
“What the fuck makes you think I'd trust—”  
  
Mrs. Andrews suddenly snored, loudly. Buttercup stared at her, then grabbed her coffee and sniffed it.  
  
Butch laughed. “What makes you think you can smell it?”  
  
“You son of a bitch,” Buttercup said as she made her way back to her desk. Butch was walking stiffly towards the door. “Where the fuck are you going?”  
  
“She's asleep, ain't she? The fuck I'm going to spend my afternoon—oh, God damn it,” he swore, catching sight of something out in the hall. He groaned and dropped his stuff, kicking it back to his desk. “We're right outside of Ms. Keane's.” He reached up to scratch at the bandages on his head, seemed to think better of it, and lowered his hand.  
  
Buttercup blinked, spotting a dark red stain that hadn't been there in the morning. “I thought you were faking your injuries.”  
  
He blinked and looked up. “What? The fact that I'm walking around like some fucked up gimp wasn't a dead giveaway?”  
  
“I thought you were faking that, too.” Buttercup stared at the eye she'd blinded Friday. She jerked her head at it. “How come that cleared up and the rest didn't?”  
  
Butch stared at her, his gaze level. “Because he wants to teach me a fucking lesson.”  
  
She pulled back a bit and let her eyes drift back to the bandages on his head, recalling how Brick had thrown him against the wall, again and again...  
  
Butch sat down, awkwardly easing himself into his seat, and from this angle Buttercup could see there was more red at the back of his head.  
  
“It wasn't bleeding this morning,” she said.  
  
“That's what I get for picking at it,” Butch said. “It itches like fuck.” He looked back at her. “You done staring?”  
  
Blood-stained bandages, like the concrete before it. “Does it hurt?”  
  
“Yeah, it fucking hurts,” he scoffed, trying to put his legs up on his desk without aggravating his injuries.  
  
Buttercup slowly sat down and glanced at the clock. Nearly an hour and a half to go. A sudden wave of rage washed over her.  
  
“Good,” she said viciously, and sensed Butch stiffening. “You fucking deserved it.”  
  
“I usually do,” he replied, and then there was only silence, punctuated by an occasional snore.  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup sighed, shutting off her computer and glancing at the clock again. Still a good fucking hour before she could leave. Christ, time was crawling. She got up and went back to her desk; detention would go by a lot quicker if she spent it surfing the Internet but with Butch in the room she didn't really want to.  
  
He had dismantled a pen and was now on the verge of making ink explode all over his desk. It was a habit Buttercup had outgrown years ago, and the sight of him doing it made her want to smash his face in. She took a deep breath and blew the pen's parts out of his hands, and they rolled out of sight under the door.  
  
He turned to glare at her. “Bitch.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and contemplated starting her Spanish homework. As crippling as her boredom was, though, she still preferred it to the idea of actually utilizing her time wisely.  
  
“Hey.” Butch was leaning over the desk between them, and Buttercup suddenly wondered why she hadn't changed desks the moment Mrs. Andrews had passed out. “Hey.”  
  
She groaned and glared at him. “What.”  
  
He had an unreadable expression on his face. “You like blood?”  
  
She wrinkled her face at him and stared. “There is something fucking wrong with you.”  
  
“I mean, you like hitting things, right?”  
  
“When they deserve it,” Buttercup griped, giving him a significant look.  
  
He cocked his head. “And it feels good when you make them bleed?”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” she snapped.  
  
He rolled his eyes and hunched his shoulders up, then winced, apparently having jarred something.  
  
“Ouch, fuck. You know...” He seemed to be struggling for the right words, and finally said, “Blood.”  
  
Buttercup groaned and crossed her arms, staring straight ahead.  
  
When she didn't respond, Butch settled back in his seat and did likewise. Buttercup focused on the clock again, watching as the second hand steadily ticked its way around, slowly, slowly, slowly—  
  
“I guess I mean fighting,” Butch suddenly said, and she jerked out of her trance, blinking. “I mean... you get that, right?”  
  
She kept her eyes on the clock. After a moment, he went on. “There's like this rush. Of adrenaline, or something, I dunno.” He was moving his hands around on his desk, struggling for the words. “Just... that feeling, when your fist hits something, and it bleeds, it... you feel invincible. Like a fucking god.”  
  
He trailed off. Buttercup stared at the clock face.  
  
“Except then when you're losing and getting the shit kicked out of you, and it's your blood that's everywhere...” Butch's voice was abrupt yet distracted, as if he was talking to himself. “It's like... you stop being a god. Stop feeling like one, because you're bleeding all over the place and you feel like you're gonna fucking die... but the weird thing is even with all that pain...” He bit his lip and took a deep breath, trying to explain. “It's... your body just wants to give up, but there's no fucking way you're giving in, because it's like... you feel...”  
  
 _Alive_ , Buttercup almost breathed, staring past the second hand.  
  
Butch sighed in frustration, unable to elaborate. He slouched back in his desk, staring at the blank board.  
  
“They don't get that,” he murmured in a low voice, his tone almost bitter, and Buttercup's mind flickered to the boys he was referring to.  
  
.~.  
  
It felt like eons before Buttercup finally set foot back in the house. The sky was already darkening outside, and all she felt like doing was crawling into bed and taking a nap—  
  
“Buttercup.” The Professor's voice called out to her from the kitchen, and she withheld a groan.  
  
“Yes, Professor?” she said warily, floating into the kitchen.  
  
He was seated at the table and pulled a chair aside for her. “We need to talk about your punishment.”  
  
She gaped at him. “Professor! I've already been dropped from the team and have to do detention—”  
  
“That's school,” he said firmly. “I'm talking about your _home_ punishment.”  
  
Buttercup sighed and fell into her chair, slouching. “So how long am I grounded for?”  
  
“I'm not exactly grounding you,” the Professor said, and produced a book. He handed it to her.  
  
She raised the cover to her eyes, frowning. “'Carême and the Art of French Cuisine,'” she read, wrinkling her face. “A cookbook?”  
  
“There are ninety-seven recipes in that book,” the Professor explained, “and you are going to make every single one of those dishes.”  
  
Buttercup stared at him. “You're joking.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “Should you really be talking to your father that way?”  
  
“Professor,” she groaned, jabbing a hand at the cover, “this is not _food_. This is... snotty people cuisine, normal people do not eat—” She paused, opening the book to flip through the pages. “... 'Cargolade.'” She looked up. “I don't even know what that is.”  
  
“It's escargot.”  
  
She flung the book onto the table. “Okay, I rest my case. Normal people do not eat _snails_. I'm not making this stuff.”  
  
“You're not supposed to _enjoy_ your punishment, honey.” The Professor pushed the book back in her direction, and she stared disdainfully at the dish on the cover. “After this week, you are to come straight home every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday once the final bell rings, and you will cook your way through this entire book, from cover to cover. Starting this weekend, you're also going to do a full three-course meal for dinner on both Saturday and Sunday—”  
  
“I'm making dinner five days a _week_?! Oh, come _on_ , Professor!” Buttercup protested.  
  
“Meaning appetizer, main course, and dessert,” the Professor continued. “And you will not get _any_ help in the kitchen. Not from me, not from your sisters. You'll cook the meal, set up the table, and wash the dishes afterwards.”  
  
“Ugh,” Buttercup moaned, slamming her forehead down onto the table.  
  
“And you're going to do all the ingredient shopping on your own, so plan ahead.”  
  
“ _Uuuuuugh_ ,” she moaned again, clenching at her hair in frustration.  
  
“Oh. And don't forget to make a separate vegetarian-friendly dish for Bubbles. A single salad is not going to count.”  
  
“This is the worst punishment _ever_ ,” Buttercup complained into the table.  
  
“I know, sweetheart,” the Professor said fondly, patting her back. “That's why it's perfect for you.”  
  
.~.  
  
“So on verse two you should be here, in this area, and for verse three...”  
  
Blossom stretched absentmindedly, her attention held by Brick and Cindy at the other end of the studio. After sparing her a scowl, Brick had turned back to his partner for his second routine and resumed breaking down her marks.  
  
Cindy studied the rough blueprint he'd done of the Morbucks' Ballroom and pointed. “And you're going to be here.”  
  
“Right. The tarp's going to cover the wall from here to here, and there's going to be a lot of paint, so stay out of this area...”  
  
It was with a wary eye that Blossom watched him. It was now the fourth day since the blowup between Butch and Buttercup, and Blossom was still haunted by the memory of Brick's cold, red eyes as he spilled his own brother's blood. It seemed surreal, that someone capable of exerting the rage he had was now calmly explaining the plans for his performance like any civilized, artistically-inclined person would.  
  
But she wasn't fooled. It was under duress that one's true colors showed, and though she'd initially been stunned by the severity of his outrage, after mulling it over she realized she expected no less from someone like him.  
  
“Alright,” he breathed, setting aside his blueprint. “So what'd you come up with for verse one?”  
  
“Oh, here, let's turn on the stereo... Blossom?”  
  
Blossom turned her head and met Cindy's eyes. “Hm?”  
  
“You mind if we put on our music?”  
  
“Be my guest.”  
  
“Thanks.” Cindy paused as she fiddled with the sound system, then ventured, “Did you guys need to, um, practice your piece today—”  
  
“We're seeing Jim this afternoon,” Brick said abruptly.  
  
Blossom huffed her agreement. “It's already 80% there anyway.” With their physical skill and brainpower, they were mastering the routine in record time, even after considering that they spent most of their practices screaming their heads off at each other.  
  
Despite the sudden negative atmosphere, Cindy grinned. “I love Jim; he's such a fabulous choreographer. And a joy to work with.”  
  
“He is a very patient man,” Blossom staunchly affirmed. She'd overheard him telling Mrs. Olson there'd been a significant jump in his blood pressure after starting to work with her and Brick...  
  
She spent the rest of the morning stretching and freestyling as Brick and Cindy worked out the details of their piece. Finally, the first bell rang, and Cindy excused herself as she slipped back into the locker room to socialize before class started.  
  
Brick rolled up his blueprint and headed for the exit, less than eager to spend more time in Blossom's immediate vicinity.  
  
He wasn't getting away that easily. “Brick,” Blossom stated, her voice ringing in the air, and he paused, groaning. “Is that seriously how you discipline your brothers when they step out of line?”  
  
“Is that seriously any of your concern?” he responded in an icy tone.  
  
Her lips pulled into a thin line. “That was barbaric, what you did. Not just what happened downtown, but what happened after.”  
  
He scoffed in disgust. “You don't have any idea what—”  
  
“You nullified the Chemical X in his system before all his wounds had a chance to finish healing.” She suppressed a shudder at the mere thought of it. “You not only stripped him of his powers to teach him a lesson, you made sure he'd feel it—”  
  
“In case you hadn't noticed, Butch is like a walking hand grenade missing the pin,” Brick said darkly. “On top of being like every other dumbass teenager out there, he's brash, bloodthirsty, massively full of himself, and frankly? A fucking psycho.”  
  
“Language,” Blossom said under her breath.  
  
Brick ignored the comment. “I do what needs to be done to keep my team in line.”  
  
“He's your brother,” she said quietly. “And what you did was inhumane.”  
  
“Except I'm not human,” he instantly responded, pushing through the exit doors. “I'm better.”  
  
Blossom stiffened as the sound of the door slamming reverberated in the empty studio.  
  
.~.  
  
Second day of detention. Buttercup stared at the fake wood grain laminate of her desk, letting her mind wander against her better judgment. Butch was seated a couple of desks away, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, contemplating.  
  
She'd resisted the urge to confront him today, despite sharing all three of her classes with him. It was during her free period that her thoughts had gotten the better of her, and she hadn't been able to stop thinking about what he'd said yesterday, about fighting and blood and other less coherent things that really weren't that incoherent to her at all.  
  
They'd now sat here in this room in silence for over an hour. She stared at Mrs. Andrews as she took a sip of her coffee and then set her mug down, engrossed in her trashy romance novel.  
  
Buttercup stared at the clock, thinking about the thirty or so minutes they had left, and finally leaned over, pretending to fumble in her bag for her homework. Mrs. Andrews spared her the briefest of glances before returning to her book. Buttercup tugged out a spiral notebook and a pen, glancing at Butch as she did so. He looked away as their eyes met.  
  
With her eyes on the woman at the desk, she bit her lip as she scribbled, going over the lines so they'd show up extra dark. She cleared her throat, and Mrs. Andrews and Butch both glanced in her direction. She set her pen down and began to turn the page. Mrs. Andrews looked away again.  
  
Butch took in the large print she'd scrawled on the sheet, and Buttercup gave him a significant look before setting down her notebook and folding her hands neatly on her desk. She stared ahead and mouthed the same words she'd written. _Pill her_.  
  
After a second, he leaned over and rummaged in his bag. Buttercup watched him out of the corner of her eye, tensing as he openly produced a bottle of medication and shook it, drawing Mrs. Andrew's attention.  
  
 _What the FUCK, you idiot_ , Buttercup tried to scream at him with her eyes, but he paid her no heed. He popped the bottle open.  
  
“Young man,” Mrs. Andrews said thinly, setting down her book. “Bring that here.”  
  
Butch looked up, all innocent as he poured one into his hand. “Oh, this is just for my headache...” He indicated the bandages on his head and smiled ruefully. “You know.”  
  
“Bring it here,” she repeated, and Buttercup made a face as he rose and held out the bottle.  
  
Mrs. Andrews scrutinized the little orange bottle, squinting at the label. Buttercup held her breath as the woman read to herself.  
  
“Very well.” She held the bottle up for Butch to retrieve, and he extended his arm. Buttercup saw him drop the pill concealed in his hand into her coffee as he passed over it.  
  
.~.  
  
“What's in that shit, anyway?” Buttercup asked as she examined Mrs. Andrews, making sure she was asleep. “It sure works fast.”  
  
Butch shrugged. “Search me. I don't pay attention to those kinds of details.”  
  
Buttercup looked up, coming around the teacher's desk and moving Mrs. Andrews' book aside so she could lean on the edge of it. “Handy stuff to have around.”  
  
“Dissolves the second anything liquid touches it. Pretty awesome, huh?” He looked at her for a moment. “So what do you want?”  
  
Buttercup stared at the tile and crossed her arms. There was a black scuff mark on the floor, and she rubbed at it with the edge of her sneaker. The clock ticked the seconds by.  
  
She heard Butch shifting. “Okay...”  
  
“I get it,” she finally said, uncrossing one of her arms to pick at the collar of her shirt. At the edge of her line of vision she saw him pause, listening. “I get it. All that shit you said yesterday, about fighting, and the pain, and spilling blood, the rush, the god-like superiority over everything when you're winning and the push to be... to be something more than human when you're beat to shit and your body's feeling weaker than one...” She wet her lips, pressed them together, and took a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah. I get that.”  
  
He stood still for a long moment, then finally leaned at the edge of his desk.  
  
“I didn't really say all that shit about being 'more than human—'”  
  
“I know,” Buttercup said, louder than she intended to, and looked up. “But that's what you meant.”  
  
They stared at each other, and Buttercup could literally see herself reflected in those dark green eyes. Suddenly his gaze shifted, glancing at the clock, and she turned to look at it too. Detention was over.  
  
She gathered up her stuff and left the room without another word or look in his direction.  
  
.~.  
  
Instead of focusing on his sketches, Brick was watching Butch's closed door, his brow furrowed.  
  
“Yo.” Boomer entered the apartment and chucked something at Brick. “Dinner. Catch.”  
  
Brick caught it without looking and started to unwrap his burger. “Hey.”  
  
“How was practice? You guys performance-ready yet?”  
  
Brick closed his eyes and sighed. “We're fine. The one good thing about this whole partnering situation is the quicker we nail it, the less time we have to spend in practice _together_.” He took a bite of his burger and went back to studying his work, spread before him on the kitchen table. “We'll be ready for the show in a couple of weeks.”  
  
His brother peered over his shoulder. “What's this?”  
  
“Brainstorming.” Brick's eyes darted from one sketch to another. “For the giant painting I'm going to do while Cindy's dancing,” he said slowly, careful not to mention how he was trying to come up with something so visually arresting that it would make up for the girl's lackluster choreography. She was a fine dancer, very skilled and competent, but missing something. He would've harped on her about it during their morning session, but with Blossom in the same damn room he'd bitten his tongue. If she heard him criticizing Cindy... he didn't want to give her the idea that she was the best dancer of the Company by far, even if might be true.  
  
Boomer was wandering around the kitchen as he munched his burger. “Where's Butch?”  
  
“In his room.” Brick glanced at his brother's closed door again, his expression hardening.  
  
Boomer caught the shift. “What's the matter?”  
  
“He's been all quiet,” Brick said thoughtfully. “It isn't like him, even when his energy level's low from the lack of X.”  
  
“ _Hey, Butch_!” Boomer bellowed, and Brick cringed. “ _What are you up to_?”  
  
“Smoking some weed,” Butch's muffled voice answered.  
  
Boomer looked back at Brick and shrugged. “That explains his low energy level. That and he's bored out of his mind.”  
  
“He's not bored,” Brick argued, setting down his food.  
  
“Dude, he only ever smokes like this when he's got nothing to do—”  
  
“That's not it,” Brick said sharply. “I'm not just talking about him in his room. I was here when he got home. He came in all quiet, with this look on his face, like he was thinking about something...” He set his jaw and glanced at Butch's door again.  
  
“Ah, yes.” Boomer kicked back on the couch and flipped on the TV. “Butch thinking. Always a sign of the impending apocalypse.”  
  
Brick grunted and looked back at his work on the table. After a long pause, he reluctantly opened up his Art sketchbook, flipping through it to the last few pages containing his sketches from the day they'd visited the Dance class. It was easy to tell which figures were Blossom's—they were the ones that looked ready to jump off the page at any given moment. Looking back, Brick was struck by how successfully he'd managed to capture her poses.  
  
He rummaged through his pencils until he located a 6B, and, just for kicks, added a couple of details to the Blossom sketches—more detail to her hair, and, after a moment's contemplation, the angle of her signature red bow. He thought back to Cindy—she had long hair like Blossom; if he could get her to twirl like this, extend her arm this way, he could work with that...  
  
As he continued to add to his old sketches his other hand reached for a blank pad of paper, and he moved from his sketchbook to the fresh sheet, instantly applying the stroke he envisioned as an extension of the path her hair would take as she spun, his pencil flying as it carved his vision into the virginal white paper.  
  
.~.  
  
“So when you said that yesterday,” Butch started, speaking up over Mrs. Andrew's snores, “that thing about being more than human—”  
  
Buttercup was sitting cross legged on top of her desk and pulled off her headphones. “Yeah?”  
  
He pursed his lips and thought, staring into the distance. “Like, I agree with you, but I'm... not sure why. I think you're right, I just don't get _why_ I think you're right.”  
  
She ran her tongue over her teeth and considered. “I mean, when you—or at least when _I'm_ losing a fight, it... it takes me down a peg. I feel all pissed off at first, right? And I get kinda worked up about it because I'm supposed to be better than that, you know, with the superpowers and everything. Something above average.”  
  
There was a slow grin building on his face, and he nodded. “More than human.”  
  
“Yeah, totally,” she agreed. “And then I start really pushing myself, because I hate feeling weak like that, but then... there's something about that pain, I mean, my sisters and I don't really get... challenged often. So getting the crap kicked out of me is like this reminder, like, Holy shit, I could fucking die, like any one of those sheep out there we're supposed to be protecting, and then there's this surge of adrenaline because I don't _want_ to die. I'm reminded of how much I want to live when I'm scared of—” She caught herself and amended, “I mean, when I feel like I could kick it any second. And then when I come back and kick the enemy's ass, it just makes the victory that much better. All the energy and the bruises, the blood just makes it feel like I earned it, _really_ earned it.”  
  
She suddenly blinked, realizing how much she'd rambled, and clamped her lips shut.  
  
Instead of ridiculing her, though, Butch's eyes were bright, and he sat up, grinning. “Man, I'm right there with you.”  
  
She snorted, slightly taken aback at the enthusiastic expression on his face. “You feel me?” she laughed.  
  
“Totally feel you,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, people—regular people, obviously—have all these stupid, um, things they do because they want to keep their bodies all perfect and shit, so when they show up at their fucking funeral they're all dressed up, and in case they died some horrible death like in a wood chipper or something, someone fucking pays a guy to put them back together—”  
  
“This is kind of taking a weird turn,” Buttercup said dubiously, a half-grin on her face.  
  
“No, I mean, my point is, they go to all these huge efforts to make sure they look perfect when they die. Like they've never done anything that really pushed the body they were given. What's the point of having this... this gift that you're not even going to use?”  
  
Buttercup started to nod thoughtfully. “That reminds me of arguing with the Professor about breaking all my toys when I was a kid.”  
  
Butch extended his arms. “Because the only way they stay perfect is if you never touch 'em, and they're fucking _toys_! You're _supposed_ to play with them!”  
  
She thrust her chin in his direction. “So how do you think people should do their funerals? Because I can't think of a lot of people who'd be thrilled about an open casket wood chipper funeral.”  
  
“It's less how they do their funerals and more how they... treat themselves.” He ran one of his hands over the bandages on the other, staring at it. “When I die, fuck if I'm going to let them wrap me up all nice and pretty.” He scoffed. “What kind of life ends like that? That's not living. Living is... wringing every last drop of life out of your body, right to the end. Using it up completely.”  
  
“You talk about it like we're all tubes of toothpaste,” Buttercup commented.  
  
He snorted and looked at her. “But you get what I'm saying, yeah?”  
  
She stared back, her brow furrowed in thought. “Yeah,” she finally said, not breaking eye contact. “I do.”  
  
After a while he leaned back in his chair, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Buttercup readjusted her headphones, fiddling with her MP3 player, then paused, frowning as she glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes and they'd be out of here. Today'd gone by awful fast. Suddenly she felt tense, upset—this was all wrong. There wasn't even a desk between them today, they were sitting right next to each other, chatting like they were friends when not five days ago they'd been beating the shit out of each other—  
  
She jerked her headphones off. “Hey.”  
  
Butch cracked open an eye and looked at her, unperturbed by the angry look on her face. “What?”  
  
“Why the hell did you attack me, anyway?” she demanded.  
  
He opened the other eye and turned his head to look at her fully. “Felt like it.”  
  
Buttercup stared at him, gaping. “'Felt like it?' You ' _felt like it_?!'”  
  
“Sure,” he shrugged.  
  
“That's your God damn fucking reason?!”  
  
“I need a reason?”  
  
“Why me? Why not Bubbles, or Blossom—”  
  
He sat up, brightening. “That one I'd like to attack, all right—”  
  
She covered her eyes with her hand. “Fuck, forget I mentioned that. But that's another thing—”  
  
“Look, your sister's fucking hot—”  
  
“ _Okay_ ,” Buttercup said loudly, “ _I get it_. You keep talking about her like that, though, and I'll break your legs.”  
  
“Don't need legs to fuck,” Butch said with a shrug.  
  
“You're asking for it, jackass,” she snarled, her hands curling into fists—  
  
“I went after you because I thought you'd get it,” he said abruptly, and she blinked, her anger momentarily forgotten. “I saw that last monster fight with you and your sisters. You just kept going after that thing, hit after hit. Just let go, completely. Didn't matter what your leader said, you just... went for it. I respect that. You get it.”  
  
Buttercup waited a second, but he seemed to be done. “That's why, huh?”  
  
He hunched his shoulders up, adopting an innocent expression. “Also I thought it'd be a good fight.”  
  
In some way, she thought, it sounded a little like a compliment. After awhile she blew her hair out of her face and put her headphones back on. “Was it?”  
  
His voice was faint but rang clear behind the pounding bass of her music. “You didn't disappoint.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Is it just me,” Blossom murmured, concern etched in her features, “or is Buttercup's mood actually... improving?”  
  
Bubbles paused, listening to Buttercup's voice singing along to her music from their bedroom. She looked back at Blossom, seated next to her on the couch. “Sounds like it.” After studying the frown on her sister's face, she asked, “Why do you look so worried?”  
  
Blossom gave her a dry look. “Happy Buttercup doesn't worry you?”  
  
“She could use a little more happy in her life.” Bubbles shrugged, and went back to her TV program.  
  
“It doesn't make _sense_ ,” Blossom said in hushed tones, shaking her head in disbelief. “She basically thought her life was over on Monday! Now it's Wednesday night and she's up there _singing_!”  
  
“She hasn't sung since the breakup,” Bubbles observed distractedly. “But Buttercup's actually pretty zen sometimes. Maybe she's just having the right kind of moment.” She looked at her sister. “How are _you_ doing, by the way?”  
  
Blossom knew exactly what she was talking about and groaned, flopping back on the couch. “Just making it. When we're not having a shouting match, that is.”  
  
“What do you shout about? Is he a crummy dancer?”  
  
Blossom had a look of distaste on her face. “Regretfully, no.” He was actually really good, but the mere thought of saying it out loud made her stomach hurt. “I don't even know how the yelling gets started. It's like it's just a naturally occurring event with us. We ought to be in a Science textbook—put this and this together and _poof_. Yelling happens.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I'm going to be so grateful when this is over.”  
  
Bubbles was suddenly giddy. She beamed at Blossom. “A ballroom dance! I can't _wait_ to see it.”  
  
“Oh. Right,” Blossom said humorlessly. “You're the one who thinks Brick's 'not that bad.'”  
  
“You're in the dance too, silly,” Bubbles said, shoving her sister's knee. “Though I'm interested in seeing what he's doing with Cindy, too.” Suddenly she sat up. “Oh my God, that reminds me. I gotta pack up my Art sketchbook. We're turning those in for a participation grade tomorrow.”  
  
“Ask Buttercup what's up while you're up there,” Blossom said before Bubbles could take off for their room.  
  
“Oh, leave it. Let's just let her be happy when she wants to be.”  
  
.~.  
  
Butch eyed Buttercup's treasure covetously as she bit into her double double with cheese. She'd kept it hidden until Mrs. Andrews had conked out. “When'd you get that?”  
  
She wiped some ketchup at the corner of her mouth and sucked it off her hand. “I spent lunch and nearly all of third and fourth period asleep in the courtyard.”  
  
“Huh. We were wondering where you went in History.” Butch sounded like he wouldn't have minded skipping History himself.  
  
“Ms. Keane would kill me if she knew. Anyway, I grabbed one of these when I woke up.” Suddenly she stopped mid-bite, her head snapping to the door. Her eyes shot to Mrs. Andrews, asleep at her desk. “Shit!”  
  
Butch picked up on the panic in her voice and his gaze darted between her and the door. “What?”  
  
She stuffed her burger out of sight in her bag and lunged for the desk. “Ms. Keane's about to come out of her office, and if she sees Mrs. Andrews asleep—” She sat the woman upright and propped her head up on her elbows.  
  
Butch scrambled to her other side. “No, set it up like she's reading, we got to angle her head away from the door—”  
  
Five seconds later they were both back at their desks, feigning mind-numbing boredom as Ms. Keane peered through the small window at the door. Buttercup watched her in her peripherals, hoping she couldn't see Mrs. Andrews' closed eyes...  
  
The two of them exhaled when she disappeared from the window, and Buttercup listened to her heels clack down the hall. She blinked, her jaw dropping. “Oh my God. Is she leaving? Holy shit, she's leaving.”  
  
“Are you serious? Can you see her, is she going out to the parking lot—fuck, I wish I had my superhearing—”  
  
“ _She's leaving_!” Buttercup exclaimed, her face lighting up. “She just got in her car, she's driving off!”  
  
Butch slapped his desk, exuberant. “ _Fuck_! Let's get the fuck out of here!”  
  
Their laughter faded as they contemplated their options, overwhelmed by the vastness of their prerogative. Buttercup stared at him a moment, decisively ignoring the little voice of protest in her head as she suggested, “Wanna go get yourself a burger?”  
  
.~.  
  
Butch made a moaning sound that was muffled by his burger as he bit into it. Buttercup snorted as she sipped her shake. “You look like you haven't tasted meat in _years_.”  
  
“Shh. We're having a moment, this dead cow and me. You know, I think I'm going to need about five more of these fuckers.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.  
  
“Don't judge me.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he paused on his way back to the fast food counter. “Hey. What if the Principal goes back to the school?”  
  
She waved it off. “Doubt it. She looked like she was on her way to a date.”  
  
Butch blinked. “How do you know?”  
  
“Ms. Keane lives on the other side of town, and traffic's a bitch. Anytime she's got a date, rather than drive into the city twice, she brings a change of clothes and her heels. Also, she had lipstick on.” Buttercup smiled at a distant memory, then broke into laughter. “Me and my sisters totally tried to hook her up with the Professor once.”  
  
“Your dad? And Keane?”  
  
“She was our Kindergarten teacher at the time.”  
  
“Holy shit.” A wide smile took over his expression, and he shoved her. “Look at you, with the master pimp daddy!”  
  
She groaned and shoved him back. “Oh, fuck off, that's my _dad_ you're talking about—”  
  
“I know! Did you see how chummy he was getting with Ms. Bellum the other day?!” he cackled. “Flirtin' with her over taxes and shit, and she was all, 'Oh, you've done _so much_ for the city, why don't you come over sometime and do a little something for me—'”  
  
“Shut up! That never even fucking happened, you prick!” Buttercup laughed, then gasped and shielded her eyes. “Oh, God damn it, now I'm seeing it—”  
  
Butch leaned over and leered, “I'll bet he's a real beast in the sack—”  
  
“Oh my God oh my God oh my _God_ ,” Buttercup moaned, covering her head with one arm and trying to wave him away with her shake. “Stop it. I'm _so_ grossed out right now.”  
  
“You oughtta be proud of him. Ms. Bellum's a fine lookin' woman. And Keane's got those, you know, wide... child-bearing hips...”  
  
He trailed off, his attention caught by something outside as Buttercup vehemently protested his application of sexual terminology to adults she'd grown up with. After he didn't respond for a second, she lowered her arm from her head and followed his gaze outside.  
  
“What are you looking at?” She frowned, unsure of what had drawn his eye.  
  
He stepped closer to the door and pointed at a motorcyclist waiting at the light. “There. That guy's got a pretty nice bike.”  
  
Buttercup scrutinized it. “You ride?”  
  
“Know how to.” He looked at her. “You know how it feels when you're flying?”  
  
“Hell, I've only been doing it all my life,” she snorted.  
  
He pointed. “ _That's_ the closest those regular fuckers out there will ever get to knowing how we feel when we're doing sixty-six thousand miles an hour in the air.” He watched as the light changed and the guy revved off. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, “Fuck. Being normal's a bitch.”  
  
Buttercup shifted uncomfortably, then, because she wasn't a coward, asked, “What's Brick's deal, anyway?”  
  
“Huh?” Butch looked at her, then pointed as his bandaged head. “You mean this?”  
  
“Yeah. Why's he so... you know, hard on you?”  
  
Butch smirked, his eyes glittering. “Because I ask for it,” he said cryptically. He suddenly started for the exit. “Hey, come on.”  
  
“What?” She glanced back at the counter as she followed. “What about your burgers?”  
  
“I got a better idea,” Butch said, grinning as he shoved open the door.

.~.

“Looks good, you two,” Jim sighed in relief as Blossom and Brick instantly pulled away from each other with distaste. “You even managed to keep your expressions friendly for at least 90% of the dance.”  
  
Cindy was clapping as she stood. “You guys look _incredible_.”  
  
Blossom and Brick grunted.  
  
Cindy turned to Jim and smiled. “Thanks _so_ much for letting me come to your studio, Jim—”  
  
“My pleasure, Cindy,” Jim said distractedly, sighing again as he rubbed his temples. “Okay. I'll see you two next week. Work another practice in tomorrow on your own.”  
  
They bit their tongues as they gathered up their stuff. Cindy lingered, grinning at Brick as he left, then turned her attention to Blossom. “He's pretty awesome, isn't he?”  
  
“Jim's good, yeah,” Blossom said, bundling up in her jacket. Cindy shook her by the shoulder.  
  
“You know what I mean,” she teased.  
  
“I know what you mean,” Blossom affirmed, a dour look on her face. “I was just choosing to ignore it on principle.”  
  
Cindy shook her head and laughed. “Really, Blossom.” Her eyes were bright as she looked back at the empty studio floor. “You have to admit, when he's spinning you into his arms he's—”  
  
“His dancing is fine, yes,” Blossom said shortly.  
  
“No, really. I mean, he just... takes total control, and he's so, so _confident_ , it's so easy to just let go and trust him—”  
  
Blossom squeezed her eyes shut and made a small, frustrated noise.  
  
Cindy peered at her curiously. “You really don't feel that? Like that night at Princess' party, I was just floored. I've never danced with anyone like him before. It's like he takes you to this totally different level...”  
  
At the look on Blossom's face Cindy made haphazard gestures with her hands. “I don't know how to explain it. But you know what I mean?”  
  
“Personality aside, I know he is a good dancer,” Blossom said slowly as she held the door open for Cindy. “As far as equating dancing with him to a spiritually transcending event?” She shrugged. “Sorry. I'm afraid you lose me there.”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup paced the sidewalk, darting glances up and down the street every five seconds. “Jesus Christ, I can't believe we're doing this.”  
  
“Chill out,” Butch laughed as he picked the locking mechanism. “We're going to bring it right back. Just watch the road.”  
  
“I can't believe we're doing this,” she said again. She paused, then looked at him. “I can't believe I'm _letting you_ do this,” she amended.  
  
“Hey, they wouldn't make these things so easy to hotwire if they didn't _want_ people to steal them.”  
  
“I thought you said we were _borrowing it_ ,” Buttercup hissed.  
  
Butch dropped the lock and moved to the wires. “Slip of the tongue.” He crossed a couple and snickered as the motorcycle thrummed to life. “Done. See, it took like five seconds.”  
  
Buttercup watched as he mounted the bike and lightly gassed the engine. He grinned as it revved and jerked his head behind him. “You want a ride?”  
  
She stared at the seat behind him, then glanced up and down the street again.  
  
He rolled his eyes. “We're _not_ going to get caught, you chickenshit.”  
  
“Just around the block,” she caved as she threw one leg over and, after weighing her options, gripped the passenger grab rail. She caught Butch turning to smirk at her and glared. “What?”  
  
“Nothing,” he chuckled, retracting the kickstand. Buttercup glimpsed him releasing something on one handle and twisting the other, and suddenly the wind was picking up, whipping her hair back as they sped off. She twisted her head around to look behind them out of reflex—one car way back in the distance, turning onto a side street. The angle of the city began to tilt, and she instinctively counterbalanced her weight as they rounded the first corner. This street was much more lit than the first, and she watched the streetlights and shop windows blur past them.  
  
“It is a little like flying,” she called to Butch over the roar of the wind and the engine.  
  
“Closest anyone normal can get to it,” he called back, weaving in and out of the light traffic. “Still doesn't beat the real thing, though.”  
  
Buttercup smirked as he reluctantly braked at a stoplight. She let go of the grab rail and started to float off.  
  
“Not really, no.”  
  
She kicked away as the light went green and spun into the air, watching as a diminishing Butch darted a glance back at her, careening in the sky. She laughed, then sped down until she was level with him, grinning wickedly.  
  
 _Fuck you_ , he mouthed, drifting to the side as a car passed between them. He revved the engine and pulled forward, speeding off, and Buttercup rose into the air, lazily tailing him. She saw the next corner approaching, and, after a moment's consideration, shot forward past it and him, making sure to drift into his line of vision. Sure enough, he passed the corner and sped after her.  
  
It was a cool night, but she spread her arms anyway, relishing the little shivers of wind that rippled her hair, slithered underneath the collar of her sweatshirt and against her skin as she flew. She could see Butch watching her covetously from the road. In a way, he was right—it was the closest anyone tied to the land could ever get to this sensation of pure, absolute freedom. There were no car walls to block the wind or protect him from the outside world; he was right there in it. But it didn't compare. Not by a long shot.  
  
He sped up, pushing the vehicle to its limits as he expertly navigated the road. She saw him pulling up, then abruptly twisted away, down a side street. She paused, laughing to herself as she heard his brakes screeching and several cars honking, followed by the sound of the motorcycle steadily approaching.  
  
“You bitch!” he accused her as he rounded the corner and steadied the bike.  
  
“Can't really go fast enough, can you?” she sneered as she landed and slowly began walking backwards.  
  
He responded by revving the engine and flying forward, and she shrugged, turning and breaking into a light jog, picking up speed as she listened to him gaining on her. Before he could reach her she broke into a full-fledged run, the sound of the engine briefly fading back, then gradually increasing again—  
  
They passed another street, and suddenly the sound of a siren cut through the air, jarring Buttercup's attention and bringing her to a dead stop. Butch's brakes screeched as he swerved to avoid her—too fast; she watched the bike break into a skid and instinctively yanked him off of it by the collar. It spun across the street, clattering to a loud, eventual stop at the curb.  
  
Red and blue lights were flashing everywhere—they were on a quiet city street in the warehouse district, thankfully minimizing the onlookers, but Butch was not pleased.  
  
“Why the _fuck_ did you stop?” he hissed, then winced as a spotlight turned on them.  
  
Buttercup shielded her eyes with her arm and squinted at the car that had sped after them. “Hey guys. What's up?”  
  
A couple of very irritated cops were approaching, both with their hands on their holsters. They blinked and relaxed as their eyes fell on her. “Buttercup?” one of them queried.  
  
“In the flesh,” she said, grinning. “Hey... can we kill one of those lights?”  
  
One of them ran back and dimmed it, and a moment passed where the four of them stood in silence. Butch started to shake Buttercup off, but she tightened her grip on his collar and jerked him close. He scowled.  
  
“So what's up, guys?” she asked.  
  
“This guy was doing over a hundred in a forty-mile zone,” one of them explained, waving at Butch.  
  
Buttercup cocked her head and blinked, feigning surprise. “Is that right?”  
  
“And someone a few blocks away just reported a stolen motorcycle,” the cop continued, glancing at the curbed bike. “Tags match and everything.”  
  
“You don't say?”  
  
“Yeah. So we gotta take him in—”  
  
Butch groaned, and Buttercup gave his collar a little tug. “Don't worry about it, guys.”  
  
They all blinked. “What?”  
  
“I, uh, I got this one taken care of. You go back to, you know, patrolling or whatever. I'll handle him.”  
  
The first guy who'd spoken started to approach her. “We still gotta take him in, Buttercup—”  
  
She pulled Butch around so the cop could get a good look at him and said in an undertone, “I understand, officer, but the thing is, this is one of the Rowdyruff Boys—”  
  
He abruptly paused and stared, suddenly looking very nervous. Butch grinned and waved at him.  
  
“—And I'm kind of under special order by the city to keep an eye on this one. Not that you guys can't handle him, but I mean, he's kinda, you know...” She let her expression darken, and she said in a serious undertone, “Frankly, he's a little messed up.”  
  
Butch shot a look at Buttercup as the cop shot a look at Butch, his face going gray.  
  
Buttercup grinned and yanked Butch back again. “So no worries. I got this one.” She waved at the bike. “You can, um, confiscate that for whatever. Evidence, you know.”  
  
“Yeah, that sounds good,” the cop affirmed, nodding vigorously. “Th-thanks, Buttercup. We owe you one.”  
  
“No kidding,” Butch said under his breath, then suddenly started choking for breath as Buttercup took off, still grasping him by his collar.  
  
“Oops.” Buttercup shifted and threw him over her shoulder. “Anytime, officers!”  
  
.~.  
  
“You can put me down now,” Butch said loudly, still draped over Buttercup's shoulder. “Do me a favor and spare me some pride.”  
  
“Would you rather me carry you in my arms?” Buttercup snickered.  
  
“I'll grab your ass,” Butch warned.  
  
“I'll _drop_ your ass,” Buttercup threatened.  
  
Butch considered. “That's a death I'll earn,” he decided, and Buttercup gasped, wrestling him around so he couldn't act on his promise.  
  
Butch now dangled upside down from one leg, staring at the ground.  
  
“Falling hurts a lot more without superpowers to cushion the blow,” Buttercup pointed out, swinging him a bit for emphasis.  
  
He snorted. “Your scare tactics won't work on me,” he declared, and bent up, grabbing at her leg.  
  
She shook him off and, true to her word, dropped him ten feet into a convenient bush by the school.  
  
“... _Ow_.”  
  
“Told you so,” she said simply, hands on her hips as she landed.  
  
Butch rolled out of the bush, brushing off loose twigs and leaves. He looked around them at the dark, empty school grounds. “How late is it?”  
  
“Dunno. Six, maybe?”  
  
“Mmph.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shot her a sidelong glance. “Thanks back there.”  
  
She blinked in surprise; she hadn't expected an expression of gratitude. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” She made a face and hunched her shoulders up. “I mean, if I'd let them take you, I couldn't exactly count on you covering my ass, which would mean trouble for me, too...”  
  
“You got me there,” Butch laughed.  
  
“Plus,” she started, and paused to glance at his bandages, “Brick probably wouldn't have been very happy with you.”  
  
He scoffed. “I can handle Brick.”  
  
Buttercup rolled her eyes and shrugged again. “Yeah, well, whatever. Like I said, I was kinda saving my own ass, anyway.”  
  
He kicked at a loose clod of dirt. “Well, thanks for saving mine in the process,” Butch conceded, waving it off. “So... I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah.” She shifted her feet uneasily, bumping one of her arms against her hip as she started to float and briefly wondering if she should offer to take him home.   
  
She decided against it. “See you, man.”  
  
He watched her wave and take off.  
  
.~.  
  
“So is your sister going to try out for the musical?”  
  
Blossom looked at Robin in surprise as they made their way down the hall. “Huh?”  
  
“Dr. Wendell dropped by the Band Hall today,” Robin elaborated. “To recruit some of us for the Spring musical.” She furrowed her brow. “I thought for sure he would've talked to you about helping them with their choreography again—”  
  
Blossom groaned and closed her eyes. “Oh, _right_. He'll probably drop by today... maybe I ought to send him Alicia's way. I'm too... worked up lately.”  
  
Robin rested her head on Blossom's shoulder as they walked. “So the whole thing with Brick is going well.”  
  
“I will be _so glad_ when this is over,” Blossom grumbled. “You know, the worst part is knowing that every other girl in the school is going absolutely nuts with jealousy, when they should really be more sensible than that.”  
  
Robin smirked. “Ah, the pitfalls of being smarter than the rest of the world.”  
  
“It's lonely at the top,” Blossom agreed, spotting Brick in the distance. “Speak of the devil. Lunchtime. We're supposed to go practice our piece. See you, Robin.”  
  
“Bye—oh, hey, Buttercup!”  
  
“Hey,” Buttercup greeted her friend, glancing in Blossom's direction.  
  
“Haven't seen you in awhile,” Robin said. “Lunch in the cafeteria today?”  
  
“I've been kind of a hermit lately,” Buttercup admitted over her shoulder as she entered the cafeteria and scanned the room for a table.  
  
She caught Butch's eye. As was customary now, he was seated with her old friends, all of whom were furtively watching as she passed. She didn't know if Butch was telling anybody they were kind of... not wanting to kill each other anymore, but whatever, it wasn't like there was any need to publicize that—  
  
“Hey, Buttercup,” Butch said, raising his hand, and she stalled, looking at him.  
  
All the boys at the table were shell-shocked, their attention torn between Buttercup and Butch. She stared at him, trying to read his expression.  
  
After a long moment where he merely stared back, Buttercup said warily, “Hey.”  
  
Another long silence passed between the group. Butch inclined his head politely. “How's it going?”  
  
“It's going,” she said, cracking a smile against her better judgment and secretly enjoying the stunned looks everyone was giving them.  
  
If Buttercup smiling was a shocker, Butch blew that out of the water when he nodded at the empty seat next to him and offered, “You want to sit?”  
  
About five guys were suddenly preoccupied with picking their jaws up off the floor, and a bewildered Buttercup darted a brief glance at Mitch, seated on Butch's other side. He blinked away his shocked expression, averted his eyes, and stared at the table.  
  
Butch waited, expectant. She'd been standing there awhile now, and several other folks were turning to stare.  
  
It was hard to tell who smirked first. In any case, both of them were by the time Buttercup cast a final glance around the cafeteria, shrugged, and accepted.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
.~.  
  
“There are just so many things,” Blossom said, her voice and gaze far away as she shook her head. “So many things I do not understand.”  
  
Buttercup looked up as she took out their chef's knife and began sharpening it. “Awful humble of you to admit it.”  
  
“You know what I mean,” Blossom groaned, issuing her sister a look. “A week ago you guys were at each other's throats tearing up the city. Now you're suddenly all... chummy...”  
  
Her sister made a face. “Okay, 'chummy?' Who says that word? I mean, with a straight face?”  
  
“You're... conversing!” Blossom cried, waving her hands about. “Talking to each other! The complete opposite of hating each other!”  
  
“We've kinda gotten to the point where we can tolerate each other, yeah,” Buttercup admitted.  
  
The Professor popped his head in the kitchen. “Blossom! You can't help Buttercup with dinner, you know!”  
  
“I'm trying to _cook_ , not set the house on fire,” Buttercup snorted, and Blossom's jaw dropped as she glared at her.  
  
“ _Ugh_! Do you have to be so rude?”  
  
“Just checking,” the Professor said hastily, and disappeared.  
  
Buttercup scanned the list of ingredients again, grimacing. Blossom shifted, sulking, then stalked up and peered over her shoulder. “So what's for dinner?”  
  
“Coq... au Vin,” Buttercup read slowly. “Risotto stuffed tomatoes as an appetizer, and Charlotte Russe for dessert.” She groaned and fastened an apron around her waist. “This is the _worst_ punishment ever.”  
  
“I thought you liked cooking,” Blossom mused as she fixated on the picture of the cake Buttercup had mentioned. “Since it's one of the few things you're better at than me,” she added, a little resentfully.  
  
“I like cooking _food_ ,” Buttercup clarified as she began prepping the chicken. “ _Not_ 'cuisine.'”  
  
Blossom watched her in silence for a minute. “So when did this thing with Butch turn, anyway?”  
  
Buttercup shrugged. “We got to talking during detention.”  
  
Blossom narrowed her eyes. “Mrs. Andrews let you _talk_?”  
  
“She kept falling asleep,” Buttercup said simply. “You know she's taking some time off, right? Apparently she thinks she's suffering from narcolepsy.”  
  
“That sounds like something I should be suspicious about,” Blossom said with a frown.  
  
“Anyway,” Buttercup interrupted, “we just found out we have... more in common than we thought.”  
  
“You mean you're a disgusting, lecherous pig who leers at girls all day?” Blossom said dryly.  
  
“Pigness aside, you do have a nice ass,” Buttercup said. “Not that I'm attracted to you or anything, but I can see the appeal—”  
  
“ _That is so inappropriate_ ,” Blossom snapped. “I do not even know how to continue this conversation now.”  
  
Buttercup resisted looking at her and dropped the extra chicken bits into a deep pan. Blossom shook her head and sighed. “There are just _so many_ things I do not understand.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Hey bro.”  
  
Flat on his back, Brick blinked and focused on the figure looming over him. “Boomer. What are you doing here? Didn't you have lunch already?”  
  
“Free period, remember?” Boomer looked up and waved at a tense Blossom on the other end of the courtyard.  
  
With a sigh, Brick raised himself up on his elbows as Boomer sat next to him. “So I'm thinking of auditioning for the musical.”  
  
Brick had to summon the power to keep the bile in his stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“Just trying to keep you in the loop, man. I'm giving you the opportunity to stop me.”  
  
“Emasculating as it may be, what you do on your time is your own business,” Brick said. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he threw his brother a sharp look. “Wait. Is Bubbles auditioning? Does this have something to do with her?”  
  
“I like singing,” Boomer said cryptically, shrugging.  
  
“I didn't realize you were a closet Broadway nut,” Brick said slowly, trying to read his brother's expression.  
  
Boomer picked at his teeth and shrugged again. “I like singing,” he repeated.  
  
Brick sighed and laid back down. “Well, it's certainly not the weirdest thing that's happened this week.”  
  
Boomer laughed. “I'm surprised you didn't get after him for, you know...” He waved his hands around in mock shock and bellowed theatrically, “ _Befriending the enemy_!”  
  
“Please don't tell me you're doing your audition in that voice,” Brick groaned. “I will ban you from the family. Me and Butch, we'll be a team of two.”  
  
“Butch seems a little less...” Boomer paused, his face growing thoughtful. “...Less _rambunctious_ lately.”  
  
“They seem to be hanging out a lot,” Brick mused, his brow furrowed. “Granted, Butch doesn't have his powers back yet, and he's still technically healing. But personality-wise, he has been...”  
  
Brick trailed off, hesitating on the word. After a moment, Boomer ventured, “Tamer?”  
  
Brick stared at the cloudless blue sky, deep in thought. “Yeah,” he said finally.  
  
“Well, that's kind of a positive thing,” Boomer pointed out. “Isn't it?”  
  
“You'd think.” Brick frowned. “But I'm not liking it.”  
  
“Oh, you're just wound up from all your dance stuff lately,” Boomer said.  
  
Brick gagged and rolled over, face down in the grass. “Stop reminding me.”  
  
“It'll all be over after this weekend, anyway. Aren't you excited?”  
  
“You're lucky I don't have head-exploding powers,” Brick said into the ground. He propped himself up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at his brother. “For obvious reasons, obviously.”  
  
Boomer hummed carelessly, unperturbed by his brother's threats. “How're things going with Cindy? Since, you know, you don't want to talk about the other one.”  
  
Brick made the mistake of sighing softly, and Boomer gave him a look. “That wasn't a good sound.”  
  
Brick stared at the grass, chin in hand. Cindy was fine. But she was only fine. Brick had to admit that she learned fast and looked good, but she wasn't going to wow the room, she wasn't going to impress Reccardi in the least, she wasn't going to stop the fucking Earth when she hit the floor or sell any paintings—  
  
“She's fine,” Brick said, so quietly that even with superhearing, Boomer had to strain to hear him. Brick could sense Blossom listening very intently at the other end of the courtyard.  
  
He grimaced. It didn't matter which performance Boomer brought up. Both of them always wound up coming back to her.  
  
.~.  
  
“I am _so down_ with Buttercup cooking French food,” Bubbles announced happily as she picked at the crumbs on her plate. “Especially dessert! I think she should do it _all the time_.”  
  
“It was one of your better ideas, Professor,” Blossom agreed. She'd—quite unintentionally—vocalized her appreciation the second tonight's dessert had come into contact with her mouth.  
  
The Professor graciously nodded. “Thank you, thank you.”  
  
“Whatever.” Buttercup shrugged it off as she gathered up the dishes, but she bit her lip to keep the smug little grin off her face.  
  
“What was that again?” Blossom asked, following Buttercup to the counter and picking up the book. “Clafoutis?”  
  
“ _Cla-foo-TEE_ ,” Bubbles corrected in her perfect French accent as she bounced up and snatched it out of Blossom's hands. She flipped a few pages, squealed, and then darted to Buttercup's side as she loaded the dishwasher. “Do this next! _Mille-feuille_! Pretty pretty please?”  
  
Buttercup straightened and gaped at her sister. “Excuse me! I'm not here to take your orders! Does this _look_ like a freakin' restaurant to you?”  
  
Bubbles stuck her lip out, then held the open book up so their father could see. “Professor?”  
  
After a glance, he automatically said, “Buttercup, do the mille-feuille next.”  
  
Buttercup spluttered for a second, then glared at a beaming Bubbles, who held the book out to her. “My pleasure,” she groused as she snatched the cookbook away.  
  
“Yee!” Bubbles clapped her hands and bounced up and down. She bounced over to Blossom and grabbed her hands, trying to get her to join in.  
  
“Oh, Bubbles, please, I just ate.” Blossom swatted her hands away and leaned against the counter. “Say, you're auditioning for the musical, right?”  
  
Bubbles stopped bouncing and looked at her sister. “Yes? Oh! Did Dr. Wendell talk to you—”  
  
“I can help out after this weekend,” Blossom said shortly. “Until then, Alicia is supposed to be thinking up some preliminary choreography.” Her face went grim. “I'm otherwise occupied.”  
  
“Hey, can we come see you dance?!” Bubbles exclaimed, swaying from left to right.  
  
“Professor,” Buttercup said in the background, “I don't think it's a good idea to give Bubbles sugar after five.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Blossom confirmed, nodding. “Mrs. Morbucks said you're all welcome to come... and you can bring a guest if you like—”  
  
“Pass,” Buttercup announced.  
  
“Gotta call Will!” Bubbles giddily exploded, and shot off upstairs.  
  
The Professor looked upset. “I'm sorry, Blossom... I'm going in on Saturday. I don't know when I'll get out.”  
  
“Don't worry about it,” Blossom hastily said. “You're not going to miss anything.”  
  
“Except Blossom making angry faces.” Buttercup suddenly perked up. “Maybe I'll come after all, just to see you lose it.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Blossom said in a monotone.  
  
“ _Blossom_!” Bubbles shrieked from their room. “What are we supposed to wear?!”  
  
“Formal dress!” Blossom called back.  
  
Buttercup made a face. “Pass. Definitely pass.”  
  
.~.  
  
“ _Please_.” Butch was on his knees, clasping his hands together and beseeching Brick. “ _Please_.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Brick. Bro. Boss. Come on.” Butch grabbed at the hem of Brick's shirt and tugged. “I'm _begging_ you.”  
  
“Pretty pathetically, I might add.” Brick shook him off. “But hell no. You may have made up with Buttercup and frozen Hell over in the process, but you still fucked up— _majorly_ —and besides, I don't want _either_ of you screwing this up.”  
  
“Man,” Boomer commented as he fiddled with his laptop, “this Ricky Ricardo guy must be big shit—”  
  
“ _Reccardi_ ,” Brick snapped. “See, fucking up his name? That's exactly what the fuck I mean, if you two were to show up and start acting like the idiot assholes you are...”  
  
Butch's eyes were wide and near tears. “But Blossom—”  
  
“I'm going to start putting a cap on how many times you're permitted to say that name within five hundred feet of me,” Brick snarled.  
  
Butch groaned and slumped, falling backwards onto the floor. “Worst. Brother. _Ever_.”  
  
“Whoo!” Boomer did a little groove. “Back at Number One!”  
  
Brick stared at Boomer's screen. “Are you downloading a bunch of show tunes?”  
  
“Gotta prep for my audition somehow,” Boomer responded. “Hey! Did you know there's a musical about some disfigured dude who lives underground and sings this song about totally wanting to bone this singing chick?”  
  
“That's a book by—oh, fuck it.” Brick sighed and made his way to his room. “Never mind.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Will!” Bubbles bounded up to her boyfriend the next morning, beaming. “Did you get my message? Get your dress clothes out! That dance thing Blossom's doing tomorrow? We're all invited and stuff.”  
  
He turned away from the cluster of players—and cheerleaders, Bubbles suddenly noted—and laughed. “What? I totally missed that.”  
  
“Hey, guys,” Bubbles said in a friendly voice, her smile fading when the girls didn't verbally respond. She cleared her throat and turned back to Will. “Blossom's doing this benefit thing at Morbucks Manor tomorrow—you know, for the school's Fine Arts Program—”  
  
“Oh, that's right,” one of the girls piped up. “For the Band Nerds and the Theater Freaks.”  
  
The rest of the girls giggled. Bubbles bit back her pout and cheerfully added, “And Choir, and Orchestra—”  
  
“Oh, you weren't kidding when you said Nerds and Freaks,” another girl interrupted with a smirk, setting off another round of giggles. A couple of the boys obliged them with a few chuckles.  
  
“And Dance,” Bubbles finished, the smile dropping from her face. She looked each of the girls in the eye in turn. “You know? The ones who always upstage us at every game?”  
  
All but one of the girls—Ashley—abruptly stopped laughing. She smiled at Bubbles. “'Us?' What do you mean, 'us,' Bubbles? Last I checked, you weren't on the squad anymore.”  
  
There was the briefest flicker of agitation across Bubbles' face before her expression went blank, and she did something between a shrug and a slump before announcing, “That's true. Silly of me to talk about stuff I obviously know nothing about. Bye, guys. Bye, Will.”  
  
“Wait, Bubbles, you were telling me about—”  
  
She was already walking stiffly down the hall, head tipped towards the floor as she scurried away.  
  
Will frowned and gave the girls a sour look before grumbling, “Thanks a lot, Ashley. See you guys later,” and taking off after Bubbles.  
  
As he passed, one of the numerous lockers slammed shut, and Boomer stepped back, glancing after him.  
  
.~.  
  
“Shit, are we turning something in today?” Butch murmured in an undertone to Buttercup as the rest of the English class rummaged through their things.  
  
“Don't pay attention much, do you?” she snickered, extracting an essay from her bag and waving it at him.  
  
He snatched it away and scratched out her name, printing _Butch_ at the top.  
  
“ _Hey_!”  
  
A heated struggle involving extensive pen marking, paper ripping, and several elbow jabs into the bodies of the unfortunate students seated next to them ensued. Boomer waltzed in just as the teacher was breaking it up.  
  
“No _fair_!” Buttercup said in a shrill voice. “It's on _time_!”  
  
Mr. Bean held up the shredded remains of what Boomer assumed was her paper. “Do you _honestly_ expect me to read this?!”  
  
“I met the five page quota and everything!”  
  
“Five pages? I can't even tell! It's just a pile of garbage!”  
  
Buttercup crossed her arms and looked genuinely offended. “Hey! I worked hard on that thing!”  
  
“I meant _literally_!” Mr. Bean shook the fistfuls of torn, crumpled paper ineffectually at her.  
  
“Hey, Charlie,” Boomer chirped, clapping the man on the shoulder as he passed and zeroing in on a pretty blonde girl at the other end of the room.  
  
Mr. Bean groaned. “For the last time, Boomer, do _not_ call me Charlie—”  
  
Boomer took a seat next to the blonde and stared at her until she glanced in his direction. “Hello.”  
  
She took a long time appraising him, her gaze finally resting on his friendly smile. Slowly, she smiled back. “Hi.”  
  
 _Bingo_. Same voice as the girl he'd heard this morning. He leaned forward on his knees, inching closer to her and grinning wider. “I recognize you from the Cheer Squad. Ashley, right?”  
  
.~.  
  
Boomer sat with his legs up on the table and his head on Ashley's shoulder, ignoring the suspicious looks Buttercup occasionally threw his way. He was only half-watching the movie Charlie had put on and was debating whether or not to touch Ashley's hand.  
  
“I'm not usually into Cheerleaders,” he said quietly, “but you're really cute.” He turned as she snorted, letting his breath puff against her collarbone as he spoke. “I've been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you for days.”  
  
“Funny,” she murmured. “Last I heard, you were all into Bubbles.”  
  
“Except she's totally not into me,” he countered, edging closer. “So clearly the girl has no taste whatsoever.”  
  
She laughed as Buttercup glared at the two of them from the corner of her eye, looking as if she'd like to thoroughly thrash the both of them.  
  
“I don't think I'd like being your rebound girl,” Ashley teased, but Boomer could sense the threat behind it.  
  
He sat up and grinned. “Are you kidding? You're hardly a rebound. Prettier face, prettier smile, prettier skin...”  
  
“You've got a real knack for talking to girls, don't you?” Ashley laughed as Boomer plunged a hand into her hair.  
  
“Prettier hair,” he mused, reaching his other hand to stroke a few stray strands out of her face. He caught her eye and the sly, inviting look behind it and smirked, pulling her closer—  
  
A sudden buzzing sound jarred everyone's attention, followed by a strangled gasp. Everybody turned to look at Boomer, with an electric razor vibrating in one hand and a large handful of Ashley's long, golden locks in the other.  
  
Ashley stared at the boy sitting before her in horror as he cocked his head, that ever-present smile of his lighting up his face. “ _Much_ prettier hair. Can I keep it?”  
  
.~.  
  
“You have _no idea_ how pissed off I am at you right now,” Brick seethed as he stared Boomer down. With Mrs. Andrews on leave the Junior detention hall was served with the Seniors, and the few students present were huddled at the other end of the room, darting terrified glances at the two boys conversing in the front corner.  
  
Boomer shrugged, eyes staring straight ahead. “I could make a guess.”  
  
“I mean, what the fuck do you think you're doing? I expect this stupid crap from Butch, but you—”  
  
“I want to point out that Butch kind of exceeded your expectations, then—”  
  
“Shut up,” Brick snapped, glowering. “What the fuck is this about, seriously—”  
  
“Boomer!” The boys simultaneously directed their attention to the door, where a stricken Bubbles gaped. “You _didn't_.”  
  
Brick put two and two together and turned back to his brother, grimacing. “Oh, no.”  
  
“It was all for you!” Boomer piped in a cheerful voice.  
  
Both Brick and Bubbles winced as she whispered, “Oh my God, you did.”  
  
.~.  
  
Detention, shmetention. Boomer was having a good day.  
  
After a lengthy stretch of silence spent studying the blonde girl fidgeting outside detention once he'd exited, he announced in a loud voice, “I'm having a good day!”  
  
Bubbles flinched. “Please don't talk so loud.”  
  
“I'm flattered you waited for me,” Boomer said, delighted.  
  
“I was _not_ waiting for you. I had Choir practice.”  
  
“But you came to see me afterwards!” he exclaimed. “I'm so stoked!”  
  
“No, you're not,” she said firmly, stepping aside so the remaining d-hall students could exit. “I mean, obviously I can't speak for you and all, but, just, don't be stoked. There is no reason for you to be stoked.”  
  
“Except I like you,” he pointed out.  
  
She ignored that. “There is also no reason for you to be shaving girls' heads _in my name_.”  
  
“But she was a total bitch to you—”  
  
“That's not a good reason—”  
  
“And I didn't _completely_ shave her head—”  
  
“And besides, she was just talking, they were just words, that doesn't mean you're supposed to _humiliate_ her—”  
  
“It isn't her I care about,” he said, a devious grin lighting his face as he looked at her. “It's you.”  
  
“You have no right to say that.”  
  
He blinked, thoroughly perplexed. “I can't say I care about you? Why?”  
  
She made an incredulous sort of face and laughed in disbelief. “Seriously? I mean, seriously?” She waved an arm in his direction and laughed again. “You broke up with your girlfriend because you suddenly decide you're into this other girl—”  
  
“You,” he interjected.  
  
“—And then you ask me out when you know, you _know_ I have a boyfriend, and you _threaten_ him—”  
  
“He threatened me first!” Boomer cried.  
  
“—And then you ask me out _again_ at, like, the most inappropriate time ever, and then to prove your feelings for me you pretend to come on to another girl only to _shave her hair off_?!”  
  
Boomer squinted at her, evidently trying to decide whether or not this was a trick question. “...Yeeeeesss?” he ventured.  
  
Bubbles groaned and turned to the wall, her hands flying to her temples. “No.”  
  
He pondered her stance, then sidled over next to her and placed his own forehead against the wall. “So... what are you getting at?”  
  
She expelled a defeated breath and said, “What makes you think I'd ever— _ever_ —go for someone who hurts other people to get what he wants?”  
  
Crap. Another trick question. “Beeeecaaauuuse... I'm doing it for you?”  
  
With a groan, Bubbles pulled away from the wall and turned without looking at him. “Never mind. Just forget it.”  
  
Damn it! “W-wait a minute!” he cried, rushing past her and blocking her from leaving. She halted, the look on her face grim. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and conceded, “Okay, I get it. You're not into, um, public displays of affection—”  
  
“No, you idiot! _I'm not into other people getting hurt in my name_!” she exploded.  
  
He blinked, suddenly grinning. “Oh! So the whole PDA thing isn't a—”  
  
“Get to your point,” she barked.  
  
“Okay, okay okay. One last aside, you're freaking _adorable_ when you're angry. Now that that's out of the way, let me ask you this: If I stop being, um, you know—”  
  
“A jerk to other people?” she suggested archly, crossing her arms.  
  
He scratched the back of his neck, pulling in a corner of his mouth. “Well, I was going to say 'myself,' but I guess that's kind of the same thing. Um, so if I stop being a jerk and all, and leave your boyfriend alone, and don't do any, um, jerky things to other people to try and show you how much I like you, would you maybe consider throwing me a bone or something, at least?”  
  
She studied him as he jammed his hands into his back pockets and gave her a hopeful smile. But for all that she was revered as the sweetest, the nicest, the one Powerpuff Girl least likely to destroy the hopes and dreams of even the hardest criminal, Bubbles knew where she stood on this issue. “No.”  
  
His jaw dropped. “What?!”  
  
“I have a _boyfriend_ , in case you've forgotten,” she said, her tone final. “And I'm not going to break up with him just because you claim—”  
  
“For what it's worth,” he cut in, watching as she shook her head at the interruption and brushed past him, “I really do like you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Her voice carried no note of gratitude in it whatsoever. “But I'm afraid that's really not going to get you anywhere.” She paused, then turned and held up a hand. “Though that doesn't mean you shouldn't still be nice to other people.”  
  
He shrugged. “I guess, if that's what it takes to show you how totally into you I am.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” she scoffed, “unfortunately for you, I love Will.”  
  
“And I love you,” he said brightly.  
  
Her eyes flashed and in the next instant the force of her backhand had smacked him into the wall, and he made a face as he cracked his jaw. “Holy shit,” he hissed, rubbing at his cheek. “You sure know how to _hit_.”  
  
Judging by her stony expression and tone, his words didn't amuse her in the least. “Don't you _dare_ say something like that unless you mean it.”  
  
“No, I mean it,” he said hastily, wincing as he straightened. “You really whacked me good—”  
  
“You know what I mean, Boomer,” she said quietly, watching the grin on his face subside before she strode away.  
  
.~.  
  
“That's _twice_ that girl's knocked you on your ass,” Butch laughed, not looking up from his video game.  
  
Boomer contemplated a random textbook he'd grabbed out of his backpack for the sole purpose of staring at. “It wasn't a _real_ ass knocking.”  
  
Butch was unconvinced. “Did you or did you not hit the ground?”  
  
“Technically, I—”  
  
“Quit making excuses, you pussy,” Butch scoffed as Brick exited his room, that ever-present stony expression etched on his face. “Tell you what,” Butch announced, “let's get a second opinion. Fearless Leader?”  
  
“That's my name,” Brick said humorlessly.  
  
“Bubbles. Did she totally roshambo Boomer or what? I'm talking two consecutive groin attacks, mind you.”  
  
Brick looked up. “She got you in the nuts?”  
  
“Butch doesn't mean literally,” Boomer said, glaring at the brother planted in front of the TV. “And besides, I didn't even—”  
  
“Bubbles totally roshamboed him,” Brick said as he passed between them.  
  
“ _Hey_!”  
  
“What did I tell you?” Butch said smugly.  
  
“Dude, you're totally making excuses,” Brick shrugged. “Plus your body language is most definitely that of a victim of hardcore roshambo'ing.”  
  
Boomer shook his head and chucked his textbook at Butch, disappointed when the corner didn't take out his temple.  
  
“ _Ow_ , fucker!”  
  
“You both suck cock,” Boomer declared before getting up and stalking to his room.  
  
Brick smirked. “That's what you get, bro. Didn't I tell you not to go after her?”  
  
“Yeah, well, have fun fucking _Blossom_ tomorrow in front of hundreds of rich old people,” Boomer shot back, slamming the door to his room.  
  
“You know what, Boomer?” Brick barked, all traces of a smile having disappeared. “Go fuck yourself!”  
  
Butch had paused his game and was staring at Brick, his eyes misty. “You're going to nasty her? With an audience?”  
  
“Shut up or you're losing your powers for another week,” Brick snapped.  
  
Butch looked sullen. “'S not fair,” he groused. “You're always getting the good stuff. I don't get to do _anything_.”  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom glanced at a defeated Bubbles, sulking in the back seat. After a moment's consideration, she said gently, “I'm sorry Will couldn't make it.”  
  
“Mmph.”  
  
The Professor seemed to be stuck somewhere between delight and sympathy as he turned into the Morbucks' grand driveway. “Oh, honey, cheer up. It's just one night.”  
  
“It's not just this night,” Bubbles sighed. “This week's just been... ugh, I dunno.” She sighed again and sank back into her seat, turning glum eyes to the window.  
  
The Professor and Blossom exchanged a concerned glance. He cleared his throat as the car slowed to a stop and announced, “Well, here we are, girls. Blossom, I'm sorry I can't make it.”  
  
“Don't worry about it,” Blossom consoled him as the girls exited the car. “Go make Townsville a safer place.”  
  
He smiled as he watched his girls trot up the steps to the entrance. With a final wave, Blossom and Bubbles slipped through the doors into the foyer, already teeming with people. Blossom glanced at her sister, whose false, bright smile for their father had faded into the inconsolable expression she'd had in the car.  
  
Blossom reached for Bubbles' hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as the girls navigated the pre-show crowd, heavy in conversation. A lot of very important-looking people seemed to be milling around, or at least their attire suggested they were very important. Blossom bit her lip, feeling ridiculously conscious of her age. Apparently Bubbles felt the same way as her long skirt ruffled through the mass of people.  
  
Her disappointment momentarily forgotten, Bubbles glanced nervously around them and whispered, “I'm glad you said it was a black tie event. Otherwise I would've shown up in, like, a party dress—” A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she said a little frantically, “I hope I'm not, like, the only teenager at a table—”  
  
“Girls! Oh, girls, there you are!” Mrs. Morbucks suddenly swooped down on them, her smile almost as bright as the winking diamonds that dangled from her ears. “Come, come, Blossom, Alfred will show you to the East Wing; we've a room set aside for you to change in. _Bonjour_ , Bubbles, let me show you where you're sitting—you're at my table, there's a couple I must introduce you to—”  
  
Dazed, Blossom started tailing Alfred as he led the way through the house. She darted one last glance at Bubbles, who had suddenly lit up and was now conversing rapidly in fluent French with an awed couple.  
  
 _Well, at least that worked out_ , she thought to herself, relieved, as she and Alfred turned a corner and her sister disappeared from sight.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom stood outside the majestic ballroom doors, half-listening to the chatter going on beyond them. Next to her, Brick was adjusting his cufflinks— _cufflinks_ , the boy was wearing _cufflinks_ —with a frown. They'd been stubbornly avoiding each other's existence until the last possible second, which was fine by Blossom, and probably fine by Brick's standards as well, she imagined. But even so, their silence felt strained and awkward, and it didn't help that Cindy was running late. At least a third party might have diffused some of that tense atmosphere. Then again, Blossom reflected, it might just be pre-performance nerves.  
  
She looked down at the skirt of her dress, tugging at a loose thread. She liked performances, which stemmed out of her affinity for having plans and goals. That was why report cards and awards were so satisfying—they provided evidence of one’s hard work and dedication, and recognition was always welcome in her book. She relished the feeling of a job well done, and having an audience around to serve as witness considerably heightened that feeling. In fact, she often hated for a performance to end simply because she wanted to hold on to that euphoria borne of conquering something. Plus she really dug the sound of applause.  
  
Tonight was a special case, however. Never— _ever_ —had Blossom so badly wanted to just get the show over with as she did now, waiting to take the floor with Brick.  
  
Her desperation had nothing to do with his ability. He was very coordinated and light on his feet, he had an excellent sense of rhythm and moved well, and—what was perhaps the most impressive thing of all—he far surpassed any dance partner she’d yet had, including the professional instructor that had choreographed their piece. It had nothing to do with training; more than likely it was his super abilities. Like Blossom, he had lightning quick reflexes and a keen sense of what was going on around him. He knew where she was going at any given moment in time and led her in and out of steps as effortlessly as if she were merely an extension of his own body. Training did have a little to do with it; she hadn’t needed to waste a single moment explaining or breaking down a step to him. He was, she grudgingly admitted to herself, the perfect dance partner.  
  
Except he was such an intolerable person. Difficult hardly began to describe him. He was insufferable. And mean. And arrogant. And insufferable. And untrustworthy. And had she mentioned insufferable? She couldn’t remember.  
  
Blossom was working herself up into such an internal fervor that a little bit spilled out.  
  
“You’re an insufferable person,” she blurted in a half-whisper. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”  
  
“Join the God damn fucking club,” he seethed back.  
  
“Watch your language.”  
  
“Watch your attitude.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“Piss off.”  
  
“Oh, you're just _so_ charming. Do you talk to all girls this way?”  
  
“I don’t discriminate based on gender. Does that make me a better person than you?”  
  
Blossom scoffed. “You don’t even come close to me.”  
  
“Like I would want to.” Faint applause sounded from the ballroom, and they both shifted.  
  
Blossom sighed as she heard them being introduced and grudgingly slipped her arm into his. The doors opened before them.

.~.

Bubbles was such a girl. She recognized this, of course—the attraction to pretty things, the desire to look pretty in pretty things, the delight she felt at being thought of as pretty by anyone. She certainly felt pretty, and important, sitting in Morbucks' Manor's lavish ballroom, in a gorgeous dress, conversing with grown-ups in a foreign language. She even felt _smart_. And it was good that she felt those things, because they distracted her from brooding over her absent boyfriend, who wasn't around to see her being pretty and important and smart...  
  
Mrs. Morbucks stood, bringing everyone to attention, and started to say a few words. Bubbles looked at her politely, then looked around the room, grinning like mad. It was so lovely in here! No wonder people liked money so much. It was good for putting chandeliers on ceilings and extravagant flower arrangements on all the tables. She heard Mrs. Morbucks introducing her sister, and Bubbles lit up, resisting the urge to stand as Brick and Blossom strode into the room.  
  
The wife of the couple seated with them leaned over and said, in accented English, “Your sister?”  
  
“ _Oui_ , my sister.” Bubbles eyed Blossom, who took note of nothing—her gaze didn't drift to the chandeliers, or the table placements, or the gorgeous, polished floors. Her eyes only passed over the crowd, a pretty, refined smile on her face, and Bubbles made a mental note to tell her sister later how... adult she looked, with Brick escorting her to the center of the floor. Brick himself scanned the room, his gaze halting at one end, but before Bubbles could see what had caught his attention, his eyes had already moved on.  
  
He was soon pushed from her mind. Bubbles felt the warm glow of pride by proxy lifting her lips into another smile as she watched her sister gracefully curtsy and twirl into place in Brick's arms, waiting for the music to start.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom hadn't thought it was possible for a superbeing's jaw to hurt from smiling too much.  
  
As their dance came to a close, she was counting every agonizing second, because each second more she spent with her arm linked in Brick's was one too many. Every. Single. Second.  
  
Finally, _finally_ , he tugged her in the direction of the doors, and once they were through and the doors shut behind them they wrenched away from each other, scowling.  
  
Blossom felt she should say something. “Thank _God_.”  
  
“It's like I'm walking out of my own personal Hell,” Brick added. He considered. “Again.”  
  
Blossom gave him a look. He was already walking down the hall to their wing. She strode after him. “What's that supposed to mean?”  
  
Without turning around, he explained, “It means for me? Working with you? Is _Hell_.”  
  
“I meant when you said, ' _Again_ ,'” Blossom demanded. Brick shot her a dirty look as he paused in front of his room, reaching for the doorknob.  
  
“You really— _really_ —want to voluntarily subject us both to the torture of additional contact with each other?” He scoffed. “Save it for Monday, you little masochist. I've had my fill of it tonight.”  
  
As much as she disliked him, she had to admit he had a point. As she turned and made her way across the grand hall to her own room, she heard him grumble under his breath, “Where the fuck is Cindy?” right before his door slammed.  
  
A sigh of relief escaped her lungs. This was over. Thank God. Thank _God_.  
  
.~.  
  
“ _WHAT_?!” Brick's voice carried well across the hall into Blossom's room, past the closed door. She glanced up from her shoes, her brow furrowing.  
  
“What's he screaming about now?” she said to herself, finishing up her laces before striding to the door.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks was in the hall with a furiously pacing Brick, her expression tight with concern. He was on his phone, and his face was growing darker by the second.  
  
“Of all the nights for this to happen,” he said, clearly straining to keep his voice level. Blossom eased her door shut and sidled over to Mrs. Morbucks, who, despite the tension on her face, gave her a smile.  
  
“What's going on?” Blossom asked in an undertone.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks shifted, angling her head closer to Blossom's, and whispered, “Cindy got into a small car accident. She drove into that giant pothole from last week's fight—nothing major, but she tripped on her way out of the car and she's twisted her ankle. As you can see, Brick's a little—”  
  
“ _Damn it_ ,” he hissed, one hand clenching at his cap. “Forget it, I'll figure something out. Bye.” He snapped his phone shut and glared at the tiny screen, apparently reading the time. A moment later he dropped his phone on the floor, where the battery clattered out of it, and he took a few steps away from them before raising both hands to his head. “I'm going to _kill_ Butch. We're supposed to be going on in twenty God damn minutes.”  
  
Blossom bit her tongue. Getting after him for his language while he was in this state probably wasn't a good idea with the inordinate amount of people socializing in Morbucks Manor.  
  
“This whole thing isn't going to work without her here,” he whispered, rubbing his temples as he tried to figure out an alternative plan. “I'm going to look stupid out there just painting, it's not— _ugh_...”  
  
Blossom almost felt sorry for him. Almost.  
  
And then Mrs. Morbucks chirped, “What about Blossom?” and she didn't feel sorry at all.  
  
She whipped around to face the woman and squawked, “What?!”  
  
Brick stopped rubbing his temples. Possibly stopped breathing entirely.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks' eyes were glittering as she beamed at Blossom. “Yes! You're perfect! You're a fabulous dancer—”  
  
Blossom shook her head. “No. No, I can't. I can't go out there cold, with nothing—”  
  
“Oh, honey, you can freestyle something—”  
  
Suddenly Brick was standing, staring at Blossom with hunted, crazy person eyes. “Yes. Yes, you can.”  
  
Blossom's gaze flitted between the two crazy people staring at her. “Excuse me, no—I'm not—”  
  
“I _need_ this,” Brick said—no, _demanded_ —and Blossom glared at him, because who did he think he was?  
  
“Excuse me,” she seethed, “but I don't owe you _anything_.”  
  
The red in his eyes flared. “Look, I'm serious—this is important to me, you have no idea—”  
  
“And why, exactly, is it so important to you?” she interrupted, ignoring the _tutting_ sounds Mrs. Morbucks was making. “What's got you so worked up that you'd actually be desperate enough to demand I help you?”  
  
“I don't need to tell you anything,” he hissed back. “And for the record, it isn't any of your business.”  
  
“Then you _definitely_ don't get my help,” Blossom bit back, and whirled away to return to her room and gather her things.  
  
A slim hand suddenly curled around her arm, holding Blossom fast. “There's this man—Reccardi,” Mrs. Morbucks announced.  
  
Brick and Blossom both gave the woman a sharp look.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks' voice was cool as she said, “He's very rich, and very much a renowned art lover with impeccable taste. If you've noticed, Brick is a bit of an artist himself, and at that age where...” She paused to consider her words. “... Let me say that at his age, and with his talent, the mere opportunity to have Reccardi cast his eyes on your work is a great, great honor.”  
  
Blossom blinked and glanced at Brick, who was staring at Mrs. Morbucks with what almost looked like... relief?  
  
“And Brick, ambitious boy that he is, isn't just seeking Reccardi's eyes, but his approval.” Mrs. Morbucks smirked. “And with Reccardi behind him, he could get into any art school he wanted, isn't that right?”  
  
“Reccardi's name carries a lot of weight,” Brick said quietly, his voice guarded and his eyes on Blossom.  
  
The girl stared at him, trying to envision him as the type of person Bubbles said he was, someone who could draw and paint, someone with depth, someone who could create something beautiful rather than destroy it.  
  
Her hesitation showed. Brick closed his eyes and breathed, “Blossom.”  
  
The lack of maliciousness in his voice stunned her.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” he whispered.  
  
This was surreal. This was so surreal. Blossom studied him as he opened his eyes, searching for the sign of a plot, a scheme, something, anything in those red eyes that would give him away.  
  
Nothing. His _Please_ rang in her head.  
  
She took a deep breath and sighed. She was so easily bought. “Okay. I'll help.”  
  
.~.  
  
“You're familiar with this song?” Brick asked as Blossom adjusted her headphones.  
  
“Yes,” she said shortly. “I just need to listen to it once, at least, in absolute silence.” She glanced at the sketch Brick had quickly lined out for her. “Run this whole thing by me again?”  
  
He indicated with his pencil a small square in the center of his drawing. “Verse one. You're here, dead center. Verse two—” He indicated a larger rectangle around the square. “You can move anywhere within this area. Verse three is over here, and verse four at this end. Once we're approaching the last two lines of verse four, work your way off the tarp.”  
  
“Does it matter what I do?” she asked. “You have a specific thing you want to paint, right?”  
  
“I'll have to improvise some of it,” he admitted, clearly unhappy with that aspect. “But I'll make it work.” He scrutinized her. “You got all that? Because these boxes aren't indicated on the tarp that's out there—”  
  
“I got it,” she dismissed, giving him an offended look. After a moment, she started to stand. “Okay, now just leave me alone for a second.”  
  
To her surprise and relief he instantly backed off, edging to the wall. She took a deep breath and restarted the song, stepping towards the center of the hall. One little box. How big was that? She could see it, in her mind's eye, recall the size and scope of it compared to the rest of the room. Freestyle it, Mrs. Morbucks had said. This was practice, this was just like practice, it was just her, her in the studio by herself, nothing but Blossom and the music and this empty space that needed to be filled—  
  
She took a deep breath and felt the music pushing her limbs into movement.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick watched her with bated breath, completely and totally floored. Freestyling it. Freestyling it, and she was _this good_.  
  
Cindy had never looked this amazing. She'd had weeks, practiced, come up with an entire routine. And here Blossom was, improvising, _six minutes_ before they had to go on, and she was fucking _brilliant_.  
  
By verse two Brick was already seeing a different painting in his mind, one that was thrashing inside, desperate to spill itself onto a blank canvas.  
  
.~.  
  
“Your shoes are going to get paint all over them,” he said gruffly as they took their places outside of the ballroom for the second time that evening.  
  
“That's fine,” she sighed, pulling into the old, paint-flecked t-shirt that had been set aside for Cindy's routine over her leotard and dance pants. “You know, it might look a little different from what I just did—”  
  
“That's fine,” he said, waving it off. His eyes were intent, focused on something else. She heard Mrs. Morbucks introducing them on the other side of the door to more applause.  
  
Had he been anyone else, she might've floundered for conversation, searched for ways to fill the silence between them. She considered, briefly, commenting on how much he seemed to want to paint. But the realization that she didn't care in the least shot her words down, and then the doors opened before them for the second time that night, and the opportunity was gone for good.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick's eyes sought out Reccardi the instant they set foot into the ballroom—there he was at the front of the room, hands folded neatly on the table. He smiled upon seeing who had entered, and Brick stifled his excitement. Reccardi smiling was a damn good sign.  
  
They parted at the edge of the tarp, Blossom heading for the center while Brick skirted the edge where the tarp on the floor and the heavier sheet hanging from the ceiling met. It was lined with several paint cans of varying color and size, brushes, and even a mop per Brick's request. He stared at it all, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. Nerves. Shit. He should not feel this nervous.  
  
He scanned the paint cans, focusing on recalling their names. Viridian. Amaranth. Heliotrope. Carmine. Burnt umber. Old lace. Saffron. Payne's gray. Wisteria. Various others that he might not even touch. He lifted one of the brushes out of its tin of water, shaking it off.  
  
What was he doing, going into this with barely a plan? _Improvising_ , he told himself, he'd improvised any number of times before—things had gone wrong, things of much more importance than this. This was nothing. He could do this, except it was so dependent on _her_ , and how could he put so much faith in her, a former enemy, what had he been _thinking_ —  
  
The music started, jarring him from his thoughts, and he looked at Blossom with the rest of the room.  
  
 _What was I thinking_? he asked himself, and then she started to dance, and his breath left him.  
  
 _Oh. Right_.  
  
.~.  
  
It was hard to block out the crowd in the room in the beginning, but Blossom was no coward and extremely disciplined to boot. By the end of verse one she was well in the zone.  
  
She heard Brick moving behind her, heard what she assumed was the application of brush to canvas, but she resisted the urge to look and focused on dancing. There'd be plenty of time to look later. Right now, this was a job, a mission, even if it involved consorting with the enemy.  
  
However, right around the middle of verse two, she heard Brick approaching her on the canvas, and she worked in a quick pirouette to see what he was up to—paint can in hand, dripping color onto the tarp on the floor as he matched each splash to her step. He'd said he'd be working around her on the floor—  
  
Blossom hit her mark for verse three and Brick suddenly emptied the entire can across the tarp, flinging it aside as an explosion of bright paint shot across the blank space. In seconds he materialized with another can and a mop, swirling the colors together and arcing it across the floor in front of her as she spun.  
  
He handled it well, and the curve of paint that trailed the mop cut a pretty line into the white tarp. Blossom thought Bubbles might have a point...  
  
The music was building here, just before the bridge between verses three and four, and Blossom geared herself up, sensing the shift in the music, anticipating the swell, ready to—  
  
Suddenly Brick snatched her by the wrist and spun her into his arms, leading her across the tarp.  
  
She gaped at him in shock. “What—”  
  
“Just follow,” he hissed, his eyes distant and focused on the floor, and he angled them toward the splash of color that covered a portion of the tarp.  
  
 _He wasn't kidding about paint on the shoes_ , Blossom thought to herself as she darted a quick glance down at the trail of steps they were making. He pushed her hip backward with his and she stifled a gasp, shooting him a death glare while her back was turned to the audience.  
  
“Stop resisting and just _follow_ ,” he hissed under his breath, and hooked a leg around hers, sweeping them both across the floor to paint another wide arc of color. “I'll let you go in a second.”  
  
Blossom bit back the screams that rose to the back of her throat about unnecessary touching and closeness, and how more dancing _with him_ had not been part of the agreement, like at all, and somewhere in there she heard Cindy's voice echoing _He's so confident, dancing with him takes you to this whole different level_ —  
  
Ridiculous. Cindy was absolutely ridiculous and blinded by affection.  
  
But when Brick spun her away, letting go of her for a split second to purposely overbalance her, he caught her before she even realized she was falling. When he led her into a sway his movement was perfect, fluid, as smooth as the strokes of color he'd brushed onto the tarp. Their last piece had been choreographed, and she hadn't realized how good a leader he was until they'd been tossed out like this with no real game plan other than to “freestyle it.”  
  
He transferred his weight and twirled her around him, whispered, “On your own again,” before letting go, and she instinctively rounded away, a little flustered, a little lightheaded and confused, but graceful all the same, and resumed the dance solo. She was way more curious about what he was doing now; there was a bunch of clattering from the edge where the tarps met, and she swept across the floor, turning to see what was going on. She blinked. The space was suddenly clear, and Brick was inexplicably at the ceiling, clenching ropes connected to the floor tarp—  
  
 _Off the tarp by the end of the fourth verse_ , she suddenly remembered, and flipped backward just as Brick disappeared, the ropes drawing the entire floor tarp up to line up with the one hanging on the wall.  
  
Blossom halted as she laid eyes on his painting, stunned.  
  
In one hasty, confusing instant, Brick yanked her into his arms again, clutching her in proper closed position— _Too close, too close_ , she thought torpidly—and she blindly followed as he guided them across the floor, her eyes darting ever to the work of art that hung from the ceiling.  
  
She felt him begin to slow, and she realized the song was coming to its gradual close. She was suddenly all too aware of how uncomfortably close they were, and as the song ended she furtively tried to pull away.  
  
A very distracted Brick refused to let her go—to her disbelief, he was half- _smiling_. The dim, familiar sound of applause made its presence known, and Blossom blinked, looking around them. The entire room was on its feet—Bubbles' attention was torn between them and the wall behind them; the expression on her face was nothing short of awed beyond all measure. Blossom's own attention drifted to Brick, who was busy drinking in the room. She watched as his gaze drifted to one end of the crowd, and suddenly the smile on his face widened. He then turned his eyes on her, and her breath hitched in her throat—this was a different smile, completely different from the evil smirk he'd sported when she'd first seen him dancing with Cindy at Morbucks Manor. It looked... satisfied. Happy. And something else... grateful?  
  
That was it, she realized as she stared up at him, her hand clasped in his and his chest warm against hers. He looked so grateful, so relieved, as if he wanted to kiss her—  
  
No! Crazy thoughts! It was a crazy, insane thought, one that came out of nowhere, and she instantly blushed, jerking back. He blinked, seeming to suddenly come to, and released her.  
  
She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the audience again and plastering a gracious smile on her face for the applause. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Brick's attention drift back to that one end of the room.  
  
Her own gaze flicked to the back wall, and she angled her head just enough to glimpse the painting that now hung from the ceiling. There was the faintest stirring of something deep in her chest as she took it in.  
  
Brick cleared his throat, and she started a bit, inexplicably overcome with embarrassment at having been caught staring. She looked up to see his arm raised, and, after a moment's hesitation, linked her own in it, smiling once again at the applauding room as they exited.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks was waiting for them just by the door, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Brick,” she said, gently touching his shoulder, and he immediately dropped Blossom's arm. “Reccardi wants a word.”  
  
Blossom hung back, watching him as he blinked and said, “Let me—I should go get changed—”  
  
“Now,” she urged firmly, pointing and guiding him in the direction of the study. After a second's consideration, he took a deep breath and walked briskly down the hall. Mrs. Morbucks turned that grin on Blossom. “You looked _magnificent_.”  
  
“Oh... thank you,” she exhaled, her breathlessness puzzling her.  
  
“That boy is severely indebted to you,” Mrs. Morbucks went on, her eyes glittering. “As am I; this night could not have been a success without you.”  
  
Blossom laughed politely, her gaze darting to the sliver of ballroom she could see through the crack in the door. “No, it was nothing,” she said quietly, eyes tracing the flourish of colors and patterns illuminated by the lights as an oddly familiar sensation unfurled within her.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick eased the door shut behind him, leveling his gaze at the man who stood by the fire.  
  
Reccardi grinned. “Pénélope said you're with John Smith.”  
  
Brick took a few steps and clasped his hands behind his back, nodding politely. “I am.”  
  
“How long?”  
  
“Nearly five years.”  
  
He nodded thoughtfully. “What department?”  
  
“Field agent in the Special Cases Division.”  
  
“Didn't realize JS' muscle came so young these days,” Reccardi mused, studying Brick.  
  
Brick allowed himself a small smile. “I'll take that as a compliment, sir.”  
  
“For a boy who's in the field, you've got quite the eye for art.”  
  
Brick made a modest shrug and decided to go the cocky route. “I like to think of myself as a man of many talents.”  
  
To his immense satisfaction, Reccardi smirked. “You're certainly well on your way.”  
  
The door clicked open, and they both turned to see Mrs. Morbucks entering the room. “Don't mind me, just eavesdropping,” she said in a conciliatory tone.  
  
“Be our guest,” Reccardi offered.  
  
The woman beamed at Brick but directed her words to Reccardi. “What do you think?”  
  
“I think I'd like to know what a JS, Inc. teenage field agent expects to gain from meeting with me,” he responded airily. “It's rather atypical of me—or anyone, really—to deal with a field agent directly.” He considered a moment. “Unless he's planning to kill me.”  
  
“I'd give you fair warning if that were the case,” Mrs. Morbucks assured him. “JS has been courting you for awhile, haven't they?”  
  
“Three years,” Brick interjected. “Actively.”  
  
“Right,” Reccardi nodded, contemplating. “The industry of evil is certainly a competitive one. Brick, I take it this is an attempt to seal the deal? What exactly could I expect from JS, Inc. that elevates their services above those of the competition?”  
  
“Honestly, sir? Absolutely nothing,” Brick said plainly, and both adults lifted their eyebrows. “Unless you decide you need something stolen, or retrieved, or someone killed. Then you might require the Special Cases Division, in which case, JS, Inc. possesses some rather... exceptional talent,” he finished with a sly grin.  
  
“Regretfully, I can't imagine a point in the future where I might have need of your particular services,” Reccardi said, the look on his face suggesting his disappointment was genuine.  
  
“It's lucky for you, then,” Mrs. Morbucks interrupted, “that Brick's interests extend far beyond the scope of Special Cases.”  
  
Those red eyes flicked briefly in her direction, then back to Reccardi.  
  
“As he said, he does fancy himself 'a man of many talents,'” Mrs. Morbucks added, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a half-smile.  
  
Reccardi appraised Brick, arms crossed. “And how does painting figure in?”  
  
Brick shrugged. “Art is a hobby of mine.”  
  
“A hobby you are well-suited for,” Reccardi complimented. “Though I will say I am rather... intrigued by your interests. You strike me as the type who wouldn't do something just for the fun of it.”  
  
Brick threw on a humble, contemplative smile. “Well, sir, I'll be honest with you. I find that being... artistically inclined is essential to how I execute plans. I couldn't tell you how often being a strong visual thinker has ensured a successful mission.”  
  
“Surely you have more use for it than that, though.”  
  
Brick stared at him a long moment, reflecting on the scores of designs he'd left with Smith. “Probably.”  
  
“And the dancing? You move well, and your partner tonight was remarkable—”  
  
Brick devoutly ignored the last comment and instead replied, “Frankly, I did it for the girls.”  
  
Reccardi laughed as Mrs. Morbucks shifted and said in a knowing voice, “That's rather cunning, actually. What girl wouldn't be taken by a boy who dances?” She peered at Brick thoughtfully. “For that matter, what wouldn't she tell you?”  
  
“You can learn a lot so long as you know how to make her feel like a lady,” Brick acknowledged.  
  
She was shaking her head, equal parts disbelief and delight apparent on her face. “A teenage boy, and he's this manipulative already...”  
  
Reccardi cleared his throat. “Not to change the subject, but that painting—”  
  
“Is yours,” Brick said instantly.  
  
A wide smile broke out over Reccardi's face. “You're too kind. Although I'm afraid the material will degrade over time—”  
  
“I can give you a fixative JS developed to apply to both layers once the paint is completely dry,” Brick continued. “That painting will never disintegrate, so long as you're breathing.”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks looked as if she'd discovered the cure for cancer, she was so beside herself. “What did I tell you? He's very impressive, isn't he?”  
  
Brick had to subdue his excitement at the look on Reccardi's face. “And then some,” the man agreed.  
  
“I appreciate that, sir,” Brick said.  
  
“However, I'm sorry to inform you that no matter how striking that piece of art out there may be, it is no guarantee that I will seek out JS, Inc. for any future projects I have coming down the line.”  
  
Brick lowered his head. “I understand.”  
  
“Any _immediate_ projects, at least,” Reccardi continued. “You, on the other hand... the opportunity to work with you?” He produced a card from his jacket and offered it to Brick. “Contact me when you get back to JS. Smith is lucky to have someone of your caliber on his team. I expect you won't be a field agent for long, Brick.”  
  
A satisfied grin spread onto Brick's face as he took the card. “We'll see.”  
  
.~.  
  
“It's really something, isn't it?” Bubbles said, still awed.  
  
Blossom curled her arms around her bag, clutching it to her chest as she and her sister stared at the massive work of art. There were two layers—the one that had been on the floor was layered in front of the canvas that hung from the wall. They weren't entirely opaque, allowing the light that shone through to pick up on the mix of colors that wove together, softened by the lamps' glow and translucence of the tarps. “It's something, yeah.”  
  
Bubbles pointed. “I love that, there. Just like a splash of color, you know? Surrounded by all that beautiful white space—he's got such an amazing eye—”  
  
“It's pretty, yeah—”  
  
“You know what it reminds me of?”  
  
“Dancing,” Blossom automatically said, then blinked.  
  
Bubbles looked at her. “Actually, it reminds me... of all the things that make me happy. Like... singing, or flying—dancing, too—or sunrises, or puppies—”  
  
Blossom gave her a dry look. “What part of this painting could possibly remind you of puppies?”  
  
“Not that I see puppies here, you know, visually,” Bubbles elaborated. “I mean, just the feeling of it. It's like that feeling you get when you're looking at puppies, or holding hands with your boyfriend, or when you're just having the best day, or when the person you're totally head over heels in love with looks at you and says your name...”  
  
Blossom cringed. “Oh, you're getting overly sentimental now—”  
  
“No, but that's what I mean! I mean, I know it's abstract and all, but the mixture of color, the patterns, the direction this section is moving and that section is moving, it's totally, like, a representation of pure, unadulterated happiness!”  
  
“Well, it reminds _me_ of dancing,” Blossom said simply, casting her eyes on the painting one more time and feeling that warmth stirring in her chest again. It really did seem to embody that—the euphoria, the beauty of movement, the intoxicating sensation that overtook her in an empty studio.  
  
 _And Brick painted it_ , she thought, the idea icing over all her warm fuzzies. She shuddered as the door opened and Mrs. Morbucks entered the ballroom, conversing with the guest that accompanied her.  
  
“...I hope you don't mind keeping it here overnight; I'll send someone over ASAP in the morning—”  
  
“Oh, think nothing of it, the cleaning crew will work around it—” Mrs. Morbucks spotted Blossom and Bubbles and lit up, beckoning her companion to follow her as she approached them. The girls blinked and stood a little straighter.  
  
“Girls! Let me introduce you—”  
  
The man she was with brightened as his eyes fell on Blossom and extended his hand. “Reccardi. You're an exquisite dancer, Miss...?”  
  
“Blossom,” the girl in question supplied, briefly clasping his hand. “Thank you, sir. This is my sister, Bubbles.” Reccardi and Bubbles exchanged a smile and a nod.  
  
“Admiring Brick's work, ladies?” Mrs. Morbucks queried.  
  
“Oh, it's wonderful, Mrs. Morbucks,” Bubbles breathed before Blossom could respond. “He did such an amazing job!”  
  
“It _is_ lovely,” Blossom graciously permitted.  
  
“Well, naturally,” Reccardi added, grinning at Blossom. “He had such lovely inspiration to work from.”  
  
Blossom turned to him, eyes wide, and laughed nervously. “Oh, no, this was planned, he—”  
  
“No, not really,” Mrs. Morbucks mused. “I'd seen his preliminary sketches and his previous practices with Cindy, and they looked _nothing_ like this.”  
  
Bubbles had suddenly glazed over, her brow knit in thought. “Come to think of it, he was watching you really intently, Blossom—”  
  
“Oh, come off it,” Blossom giggled uncomfortably, glancing at the painting askance and trying to match each stroke to a movement during her dance. Her recollection of the performance, however, was overshadowed by the current party's reaction to it.  
  
 _Watching her_? No, this had been planned, this was—  
  
“Brick!” Mrs. Morbucks had caught sight of him just beyond the open ballroom doors, and he obediently entered after hearing his name.  
  
His gaze shadowed as it passed over the girls, but he kept his expression genial as Mrs. Morbucks went on, “I just wanted to thank you both again for making this such a memorable evening.”  
  
“My pleasure,” he said.  
  
“Think nothing of it,” Blossom said. They exchanged a look.  
  
If Reccardi or Mrs. Morbucks noticed, they politely ignored it. “You two look incredible together,” Reccardi added.  
  
The incredible twosome cracked strained, awkward smiles.  
  
“Oh, they really did, didn't they?” Bubbles gushed, eyes glittering. “Like they were _born_ to dance with each other.”  
  
“Thank you, Bubbles,” Blossom said through her forced grin, widening her eyes at her sister.  
  
“Yes, _Bubbles_ ,” Brick intoned through an equally stressed smile, “you're so _sweet_.”  
  
She hunched her shoulders up and beamed. “I know.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Was that really necessary?” Blossom hissed at her sister. Bubbles pretended not to hear her, and instead leaned forward to speak to Mrs. Morbucks, seated across from them.  
  
“This is the first time I've ever been in a limo,” she said, awed. “Thanks again for the ride home, Pénélope!”  
  
Blossom gaped at Bubbles and smacked her in the arm. “Where are your _manners_?! Call her by her family name!”  
  
“Oh, don't worry about it, Blossom,” Mrs. Morbucks said, tapping on the glass partition and indicating to her driver where to turn. “You girls are welcome to address me as you see fit.”  
  
Bubbles turned and stuck her tongue out at her sister with a smile. Blossom made a sour face and directed her attention out the window.  
  
“Is there a little thing that comes up with drinks and stuff?” Bubbles asked, poking around the seat for a button or secret compartment.  
  
“Just a fridge, dear, and a little bar to set the drinks on.”  
  
“Ooh, neat!”  
  
Blossom sighed and said so quietly that only those with superhearing could catch it, “Bubbles, I know you're excited and all, but exercise some restraint, please? Preferably before you break something?”  
  
Bubbles stopped examining every nook and cranny of their surroundings and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes, however, continued to dart around from corner to corner.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks suddenly spoke up. “Blossom, I know I've told you a great many times already tonight, but thanks again for your help.”  
  
“Again, it was nothing, Mrs. Morbucks. It was a pleasure.”  
  
“I know you two don't get along. It was nice that you both could... step out of your comfort zone and reach an agreement.”  
  
The street lights whizzed by, their glowing tracks lingering in Blossom's vision. “No reason for us to be children about it. It was the mature thing to do.”  
  
“Reccardi was very impressed with you both.”  
  
The familiar warmth of being recognized and acknowledged for her talents flickered to life in her chest. But she had to give credit where credit was due. “Brick especially, I mean, he _was_ the artist.”  
  
“True,” Mrs. Morbucks agreed. “But any other dancer—Cindy included—wouldn't have been nearly as captivating as you were tonight.”  
  
Blossom felt stupidly full of herself, and she had to shoot the wide smile down. “Oh, I—”  
  
“Brick knows it, too,” Mrs. Morbucks went on, and Blossom felt her smile crack.  
  
She twitched, feeling Bubbles' wandering eyes finally settling, albeit very stealthily, on her. “Not that I disagree, Mrs. Morbucks, I just don't think—”  
  
“Oh, my girl, you saw how he reacted when I suggested you take Cindy's place,” Mrs. Morbucks continued, and Blossom trailed off, racking her memory for evidence to dispute Mrs. Morbucks' preposterous claim. “After the initial hesitation, he was all for it. Practically begged you to help, I might add.”  
  
“I wouldn't have called it _begging_ ,” Blossom said uneasily, glancing at her now openly interested sister.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks laughed. “Blossom, you need to learn to take a compliment. The point is, Brick wouldn't have made nearly the impression he did had you not been there to complement his talent. He knows it, too. In fact, I said it before and I'll say it again. The boy is severely— _severely_ —indebted to you for this evening.”  
  
The warmth of accomplishment flared up again, briefly, but was replaced with a sickening cold twisting in her gut. She didn't want to be involved with Brick in any way, shape, or form, even if it did mean he now owed her. Blossom refrained from making a face and ignored her sister's curious eyes on her as she turned back to the windows, barely registering the familiar houses of their neighborhood as the limo turned onto their street and approached home.  
  
.~.  
  
“I'm bored,” Butch announced loudly in front of Boomer's closed door.  
  
The plucking of guitar strings on the other side stopped. “Thanks for the update. Why do I give a fuck?”  
  
“Get out here and entertain me,” Butch went on.  
  
“Don't you have a new best friend to go do that shit with?”  
  
“She went to go stop a bank robbery or something.” After a pause, Butch repeated, “I'm bored.”  
  
Boomer made an exasperated sort of noise. “Will you go the fuck away?”  
  
The front door flew open, and Butch turned to greet Brick. “Hey, bro—”  
  
He cut off as Brick suddenly flew toward him and shoved him against Boomer's door, gripping his shoulders. The loud thump drew Boomer's attention. “Did I _not_ just tell you to go the fuck away?”  
  
Butch stared at Brick's dark expression, wondering what the fuck he'd done now. “Um... Brick?”  
  
Those red eyes narrowed, and something on Brick's face twitched. After one confused, panicked second, Butch realized his brother was... was _smiling_.  
  
“That fight two weeks ago,” Brick abruptly said, and Butch winced.  
  
“Dude, I'm sorry—”  
  
“ _No_. Thank you.”  
  
Butch blinked, his jaw dropping open. That smile was a wide, full-fledged grin now, and Brick playfully batted Butch's head before striding away, towards his room. “You're getting your powers back early, motherfucker! I owe you one!”  
  
Butch sank to the floor, staring, then fell back as Boomer opened his door.  
  
“What just happened?” Boomer asked, staring in the direction of Brick's room.  
  
The shudder that had been building in Butch's chest manifested itself physically, and he convulsed on the floor. “ _Gah_. I just had the shit scared out of me, that's what.”

.~.

“Dude! For fuck's sake!” Buttercup punched Butch in the gut for the thousandth time that day. Her hair was standing on end, faint green sparks channeling across the strands. “Quit fucking shocking me!”  
  
“Ha ha,” Butch wheezed, green lightning dancing across his mitt.  
  
Buttercup tried to pat her hair down and griped, “I liked you better _without_ powers.”  
  
“Powers are _awesome_ ,” Butch laughed, zapping Harry, who yelped.  
  
“Butch! What the fuck?!”  
  
The green-eyed boy responded by sending a tiny jolt in each of his friends' directions.  
  
“ _Ow_!”  
  
“Fuck you, man!”  
  
“For Christ's sake!”  
  
Buttercup thwacked him in the head. “Cut it the fuck out! You've been doing this all day!”  
  
He sneered at her as the final bell rang. “What are you going to do about it?”  
  
Buttercup gritted her teeth and grabbed him by the hair.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick had the look of a man on a mission as he made his way down the hall. The contents of the text he'd just received were burning a hole in his pocket, and he stealthily maneuvered through the mass of students, all straining to get out.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a blur of green and black—Butch and Buttercup were roughhousing their way out the main doors, their friends trailing warily behind. He quickly discarded the thought of stopping them before it escalated—it didn't seem serious, and from the look of it, Buttercup was winning anyway.  
  
A shock of red curls caught his attention, and he muscled his way to the head of the crowd. There was a semi-circle of onlookers, held back by a couple of the Morbucks' security guards. They let Brick pass with barely a glance. Mrs. Morbucks was chatting animatedly with Blossom, who was blushing and sheepishly accepting two slim envelopes that Mrs. Morbucks urged into her hands. Both looked up as Brick came to a stop, his mouth going dry as he took in the love of his life.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks grinned. “Hello, Brick.”  
  
She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks extended the keys to him on a trim, manicured finger. Wordlessly, Brick took the keys to the car—his car—in hand, wetting his lips as he took a slow step forward.  
  
His brothers were suddenly at his side, breaking him out of his reverie. A tousled and slightly burnt-smelling Butch slapped Brick on the chest, jubilant. “Holy shit, dude! Talk about a sweet fucking ride!”  
  
Boomer shook him by the shoulders. “Shotgun! I called it!”  
  
“Yeah, right!” Butch crowed, making a dive for the front passenger door. “Like you're gonna—”  
  
In an instant Brick grabbed both his brothers by their collars and flung them back into the crowd. Several students yelped as they took out the first few rows of innocent bystanders.  
  
“Was that really necessary?” Blossom said in an undertone. Buttercup was standing next to her now, openly drooling at the Coil.  
  
Brick's face was hard as he glared at his siblings. “Oh, no, you don't. Either of you see your names on this thing anywhere?”  
  
Boomer and Butch exchanged a look. Slowly, Boomer raised his hand. “Uh—”  
  
“See you boys at home,” Brick announced loudly, jogging around to the driver's side. As he opened the door, he paused and nodded amicably at Mrs. Morbucks, a satisfied grin lighting his face. “Pleasure doing business with you.”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks shrugged. “Naturally.”  
  
Brick shut himself into paradise, suppressing a shiver of pure, unadulterated contentment as he caressed the wheel. The leather of his seat seemed to rise to meet him, hugging his body into the car. He eyed his mirrors, the dash, the stick shift, following this up with a hesitant touch of his hand. Oh, it felt perfect. Like it was made for him.  
  
He set his jaw, face serious as he inserted the key into the ignition.  
  
.~.  
  
“Oh my God, I think he just—did he just moan?” Buttercup said in an undertone to Blossom.  
  
“Don't exaggerate,” Blossom said hastily. Though Brick _had_ looked rather... delighted when the engine had first roared to life, then settled into a smooth, luxurious purr.  
  
Buttercup shifted uneasily beside her. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel a little dirty watching this.”  
  
“Hush,” Blossom reprimanded her, but Buttercup was on a roll.  
  
“Seriously, you see how—how _tenderly_ he's stroking the wheel and touching the dash? I mean, look at him wrapping his hand around—”  
  
“ _I get it_ ,” Blossom announced loudly. “Excuse me. I have some checks to deliver.”  
  
With a sudden rumble of the engine, Brick took off, smoothly navigating his car out of the school lot and off into the distance.  
  
Mrs. Morbucks blinked and tapped a finger to her cheek. “You know, I just realized. I never asked if the boy had a license.”  
  
Butch stood up and bellowed, “ _You suck_!” He scoffed in disgust and turned to Buttercup. “Can you believe that guy?”  
  
Without warning, Blossom's and Buttercup's cells abruptly began trilling a familiar buzz. Blossom snatched her phone and addressed the Mayor, taking off as Buttercup called Bubbles, following in her sister's wake. Off in the distance, a monstrous screech reverberated in the air.  
  
Butch and Boomer stared after the two girls. Butch turned to his brother. “I'm bored.”  
  
Boomer eyed him warily. “So?”  
  
Butch tossed his head in the direction the girls had taken off. “So let's go.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Girls!” Bubbles landed next to her sisters, staring up at the big, ugly monster bearing down on the city. “What are we looking at?”  
  
Blossom looked stressed. Buttercup answered, “Standard two-footed, clawed, rampaging freak of nature. Nothing too serious—no laser vision, no acid spit, no spiky projectiles—”  
  
“So it should be a snap, right?” Bubbles took note of its grotesque, snapping beak—they'd have to stay away from that. It had an enormous hump on its back, thankfully limiting its mobility. “What's the problem?”  
  
Blossom finally spoke up. “The problem is it's rush hour in the middle of downtown.” She turned to her sisters. “Bubbles, help me section off Main to Seventh! We have to get everyone out of here! Buttercup, you take on the monster—”  
  
“I'm on it!” Buttercup proclaimed, giddy at not being stuck with babysitting citizens, and took off.  
  
“ _And either keep it where it is or try to fling it out of the city_!” Blossom cried after her. She turned to Bubbles. “Come on, let's—”  
  
A sudden wave of horrified shrieks rolled out from the point where the monster stood, and Buttercup was flung back to the ground at her sisters' feet, wrestling with what looked like an ugly eight-legged cockroach with a turtle shell on its back.  
  
“ _A little help would be nice_!” Buttercup snapped at her sisters, and Bubbles immediately eyebeamed it to smithereens.  
  
“What was that?” Blossom demanded as Buttercup wrested off one of the legs that had broken off, wrapped around her neck.  
  
She turned to Blossom, her face grave. “I think it just had babies.”  
  
Another wave of screams met the girls, and a horrified Blossom shot off, her sisters in tow. “Bubbles! Crowd control! Get everyone out of here, children first! Zap whatever... babies you run into!”  
  
Bubbles looked conflicted. “But they're babies—”  
  
“ _Oh my God, help_!” a woman below them shrieked as a whole horde of babies swarmed around her, clacking their insect-like jaws menacingly.  
  
“Hungry monster babies on ugly crack!” Buttercup shot back. “Get over it!”  
  
“Buttercup and I will take on Mom!” Blossom continued, and Bubbles pulled away from her sisters, diving to save the woman and blasting mini-monsters every which way.  
  
As they approached, Blossom and Buttercup could see the hump on the mother's back rapidly deflating as her babies flocked out into the world. A number of them caught sight of the girls as they sped up, and several leapt into the air as one mass, aimed at the girls—  
  
“Not getting away with that again,” Buttercup hissed, snatching Blossom by the arm and spiraling them both out of the way. They both landed at the back of the mother's neck, hard, and the impact overbalanced her. Blossom instantly pulled the beast in a direction that minimized the buildings its body was going to crush, while Buttercup fired one baby off after another.  
  
“One zap'll do it on these things,” she called to Blossom. “Easy pickin's.”  
  
“Zapping them isn't the problem,” Blossom called back as the monster made contact with the ground, sending concrete debris and dust flying around them. “The problem is how many of them we're going to have to zap.”  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles was having a time of it; there were people _everywhere_ , as well as creepy baby roachy-turtle things. Their teeth weren't very sharp and couldn't pierce skin, but they were mean, quick, surprisingly strong, and too numerous to count. Bubbles was herding people onto buses, into buildings, neither of which there were enough of, and while she had super strength she only had two arms with which to carry people. Still, she was doing her best, given the circumstances...  
  
A new round of panicked screams resounded behind her, and she whirled to find a handful of library patrons—most of them kids—being accosted by another wave of babies. She gritted her teeth and flew at them, firing energy beams from her fists and sending creatures twitching across the asphalt. Suddenly something heavy landed on her, and she hit the ground. Nasty insect-like teeth-gnashing echoed from over her shoulder, and she twisted, smashing it against the concrete. Where one fell, though, about a hundred more rose to replace it, and before she could stand she was mobbed. Instead of oxygen there was suddenly nothing but heavy claw after claw pinning her down and a cacophony of gross, icky bug jaws snapping everywhere around her. She blasted through them, feeling a space clearing, but just as suddenly it was filled, and she tried to push up off the concrete against them, but there were so many, too many—  
  
A flash of blue pierced the mass of monsters swarming around her, and she instantly rose into the cleared space, her arm reaching for something solid. Someone gripped her on the other end, tugged, and then Boomer spun her behind him as he swung a giant, glowing, blue bat into the horde, scattering the lot of them.  
  
He shot her an impish grin. “Hey.”  
  
.~.  
  
“It's too heavy to move,” Blossom gasped as she strained against the comatose body of the mother. “I can't believe it, this thing weighs a ton!”  
  
Buttercup flung away several babies that had attempted to upset her balance. “Runs in the family. I can't take more than five of these things on me at a ti—”  
  
A whole score of babies tackled Buttercup to the ground, cutting her off, and as she struggled with them Blossom felt the big one stir. Its giant claw extended, headed straight for a cluster of very inconveniently placed onlookers—for crying out loud, people _never learned_ —  
  
Blossom took off, dropping onto the monster's claw and slamming it to the ground, mere feet away from the terror-stricken crowd, and shouted, “Get out of here!”  
  
Her command sent them running just as the monster rose to its feet, and Blossom flew into the air, backing away to get a better look—  
  
A bright streak of green rocketed in front of her, and she watched in disbelief as Buttercup connected with the monster's jaw, sending it falling backwards into the side of a building.  
  
“ _Buttercup_!” The girl was so reckless, honestly—  
  
“What?” Buttercup shrieked below her, shaking off baby after baby. Blossom blinked, baffled—but Buttercup had just attacked the monster, how was she below her now—  
  
“ _Kickass_! Man, it feels good to fly after two weeks of all this walking shit!” Butch whooped, fists in the air.  
  
Blossom brought her hands to her temples and shook her head, groaning, “No, not right now, please, not right—” She abruptly stopped, recalling his special power, and zipped toward him. “Butch!”  
  
He turned, lighting up as she approached, and leaned forward as she screeched to a stop, bending back away from him. “Oh, honey, I sure do love it when you scream my name—”  
  
She ground her teeth together and ignored the impulse to punch him. “How big a shield can you make?”  
  
He blinked, mischief suddenly twinkling in his eyes. “Wow! Jump right to the personal questions, don't you—”  
  
“ _Stop goofing off_!” she cried. “I need you to establish a perimeter around four city blocks, if you can manage one that size—”  
  
“Excuse me?” he said in disbelief, his face contorted in confusion. “What the hell for?”  
  
“To contain the monster and keep civilians out! Now, _please_ , throw up a shield—”  
  
A cloud passed over his expression, and he pressed forward, cutting her off. “Okay, doll, here's the thing: you sure do get me all worked up, and you're hot enough to smoke out a building, but you ain't my leader. So don't even fucking _think_ of ordering me around.”  
  
Apoplectic shock overtook her expression, and she stared dumbly at him as he blew her a kiss and rounded away from her, moving to attack the monster again.  
  
.~.  
  
“Thanks for your help,” Bubbles said as she rounded up more citizens to add to the pile in her arms.  
  
“Don't mention it.” Boomer shrugged it off, waggling his bat menacingly at more baby monsters.  
  
She nodded at the bat that crackled in his hands. “Where'd you learn to do that?”  
  
“Special power. Doesn't have to be a bat.” He swung it back and suddenly it morphed into a sword, and he sliced several monsters cleanly in half. A twirl of his hand, and it transformed into a board with a nail in it.  
  
She laughed. “A classic.”  
  
“I prefer the giant boat oar, myself.” He glanced at the ball of people. “Um, are they okay like that?”  
  
“It's okay, they're used to it,” she assured him. “Though it's about time to find somewhere to put them...”  
  
Mama monster overhead suddenly crashed her foot into one half of a bank, and the two of them looked up to see two green streaks and one pink swirling around it. The pink one seemed pretty pissed off.  
  
Boomer glanced at the bank, whose high security vault had survived the impact and was now exposed. “Why don't you stick them in that?”  
  
Bubbles frowned as they flew up, dodging the monster's legs in the process. “How are we supposed to open it?”  
  
“You've gotta have a banker in there somewhere.” Boomer indicated the pile of people she carried. He poked it. “Hey! Any bankers in there?”  
  
After a pause involving lots of mumbling and chattering within the ball itself, a hand extended out of the mass and obliged them.  
  
Bubbles looked back at the monster, wincing as it roared. The hand beckoned once it had finished and Boomer twisted the vault's lock open.  
  
A familiar, nasty snarl cut through the air, and Boomer formed a bat in his hands again, whacking away the little monster that dove for the pile of people. Bubbles set them down and started urging them into the vault, glancing behind her at the new onslaught of babies that was approaching—where did these guys keep coming from, anyway—  
  
Boomer took a deep breath and blew, the force of his breath knocking them all back, and as they toppled over one another they sent up a shrill whine, multiplied by hundreds of little monster voices.  
  
The mother stopped swiping at their siblings and zeroed in on Boomer, livid, and brought her giant claw down on him, smashing him into the uneven steps of the bank. The impact created a deep rift in the cement, and Bubbles snatched at several people who nearly toppled into the abyss. A couple of kids ran away as heavy building debris crushed the pavement where they'd stood not five seconds ago.  
  
Blue light exploded underneath the monster's claw, but she was still too heavy to move. She dug her talons into the concrete and flung a chunk of it away, Boomer included. Several babies were circling the terrified kids—Bubbles hurled the last of the people she'd rescued into the vault and streaked towards the kids to scoop them up—  
  
One baby monster jumped her, throwing her off, and she hit the pavement next to the kids, hard.  
  
.~.  
  
Boomer coughed as he emerged from the pile of asphalt, tasting blood in his mouth. He shook the dust from his hair and glanced up—Butch was hovering, sneering as his fist built up a steady green glow and he prepared to aim it at the mom's head.  
  
A sudden scream snapped Boomer to attention, and he looked back to see Bubbles two blocks away blasting a slew of babies, urging the two frightened kids behind her.  
  
The mom shrieked again, hearing her babies' screams, and Boomer stared as that giant beak of hers snapped and suddenly went shooting towards Bubbles.  
  
He shot off into the air, shocking Butch as he grabbed him, and instantly rerouted his flight path, the wind screaming around him as he streaked back to her, trying to beat the mother—  
  
He flung Butch ahead of him and was suddenly pounced on by a couple of babies. He bit the asphalt shoulder first and winced, reaching up to throw them off. Hands—her hands, he realized—wrested him free and shot them away as Butch screamed, “ _Holy shit_ —”  
  
Boomer found himself splayed on the ground and looked up at the flickering green dome that encased them. Something gripped at his sleeve, and he blinked, looking to a concerned Bubbles. “Are you okay?” she said, urgently.  
  
He considered her for a second—her brow was knit in distress, and her lips had compressed into a tight, severe line. It was kind of charming, especially since that look was hitting him full on in the face.  
  
After a second, he coughed and rasped, “I... I'm having trouble breathing... I might need CPR...”  
  
She groaned and dropped him back to the concrete.  
  
A loud _clacking_ noise drew their attention, and they looked up to see a huge, snapping beak—part of the mother's head was caught in Butch's shield. As she thrashed and screeched, trying to pull herself free, Butch glowered at his brother. “ _Boomer_! For fuck's sake, you bastard!”  
  
Something slapped the shield from the outside, and there was Blossom pressed against it, livid. “ _You couldn't have made one of these five minutes ago_?!” she howled at Butch, her voice partly muffled through the barrier.  
  
Bubbles scooped the kids up and Boomer and Butch maneuvered out of the way as Butch dropped his shield. Buttercup swooped in to uppercut the monster, sending it crashing backwards. Blossom, who'd been putting all her weight on the shield, lost her balance and collapsed into Butch's extended arms.  
  
“Wouldn't mind making one now,” he teased.  
  
Blossom snarled and kicked him away.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick whistled cheerily to himself as he perused the coffee menu, shooting a loving glance back at his car as he did so. He was debating whether or not to give it a name. Maybe just The Love of His Life would do...  
  
A deep, earth-shaking rumble jolted his attention, and several of Townsville's coffee shop patrons—having been conditioned to do so for years and years—furtively began sidling behind the counter and huddling.  
  
Brick frowned, trying to pick the wait staff out of the crowd. “Hey! Who's going to get me my coffee?”  
  
.~.  
  
“For crying out loud, will you just throw another shield up?!” Blossom said in a stressed, shrill voice.  
  
“It'll cost you a kiss!” Butch hollered back. “Or some half-hearted groping, at the very least—”  
  
“Would you two get over it already?!” Buttercup screamed back at the both of them. Boomer and Bubbles were right behind her—civilians had been cleared out from Main all the way to Seventh, but the monster was heading for Eighth now and pretty heartily resisting their efforts to push it back. The babies were still an issue, though remarkably less of one since Blossom had unleashed some well-pent up rage right after the whole shield thing.  
  
Bubbles could see more civilians emptying themselves into the streets and fleeing not two blocks away. She sped forward to help them along while her sisters and the boys shot several blasts simultaneously at the monster.  
  
The monster bellowed, swiping all four of them out of the way and into the side of a building. They all toppled in an ungainly heap to the ground, mere feet away from where Brick was exiting, coffee in hand.  
  
“Hey,” he said casually, reaching into his pocket for his keys—  
  
A giant monster claw came crashing down, completely obliterating his unnamed Coil into the asphalt. He stopped and stared.  
  
The other four were scrambling to their feet, all pausing as they took in the remains of Brick's car as the claw lifted away. Brick himself only stared, stupefied.  
  
It was Boomer who broke the silence. “Um. Wow. _Suck_.”  
  
Brick's coffee went flying as he tore after the lumbering beast, eyes glowing a bright, frightening red. Within seconds there was a blinding red beam illuminating the entire street, and the rest of them turned, shielding their eyes just as the monster turned—  
  
The smell of ash was suddenly thick in the air, and the four of them lowered their arms, blinking as their gazes refocused.  
  
Buttercup gawked. “Wh—where did it go?”  
  
“Aw, dammit.” Next to her, Butch made a face and kicked at a fire hydrant. Brick was walking back, his face somber and his stance defeated. “Way to ruin the fun,” Butch said to him as he passed.  
  
Brick's arm shot out and the next instant Butch had hit the pavement face first.  
  
“Shut up,” he growled as he continued walking, stopping in front of his dead car.  
  
Buttercup and Blossom were blinking at the empty street. In the distance, Bubbles' faint blue streak was approaching them.  
  
“What the hell just happened?” Buttercup breathed.  
  
Brick ignored her, sinking to a crouch and picking up the small coil of silver that had originally adorned the hood. The faint _clink_ of metal on metal drew Blossom's attention, and she stared at Brick as he numbly sifted through the remains of his car, his expression going from grim to oddly vacant.  
  
“Completely, totally unsalvageable,” he muttered to himself.  
  
She blurted it out without thinking. “I'm sorry, Brick.”  
  
He looked up, startled, and she bit her lip. “Really,” she added, meaning it. “I'm sorry.”  
  
He blinked at her, considering, then resumed examining the tiny hood ornament in his hand. He crumpled it and tossed it back into the pile of gnarled metal, along with the keys.  
  
“I'm going home,” he said quietly, and then took off, a bright red streak against the slow onset of dusk in the sky.  
  
Butch groaned as he peeled himself off the asphalt. Bubbles landed, her face confused. “What happened? It—it's just gone!”  
  
“Thanks to Brick,” Butch answered, spitting gravel.  
  
“What the hell did he do?” Buttercup said in awe, looking as if she'd just transcended to some greater spiritual realm.  
  
“Eyebeamed it,” Boomer explained. “When he gets very... uh, focused, he's got a hell of a beam coming out of those things.”  
  
Bubbles looked a little fearful. “He didn't leave a trace of it,” she whispered.  
  
“Yeah, he's kinda selfish about his toys,” Butch griped. Blossom, who had been studying the now-empty space—people were filtering back into the streets to survey the damage—was suddenly reminded of something, and her face hardened.  
  
“ _You_!” she barked, eyes blazing as she stalked up to Butch and stabbed a hand at his chest. “If you're going to throw yourself into any monster fight in _my_ city, then you _immediately_ relinquish your decision-making skills to _me_! If you think I'm going to stand around and let a couple of amateurs—”  
  
“' _Amateurs_?!'” Butch clamored, highly offended.  
  
Boomer looked mopey. “M'not an amateur.”  
  
“—interfere with any mission, then you've got another think coming! _This is my city_! And you don't so much as _breathe_ without begging me for permission! So the next time you decide you want to liven up your day and start fooling around in a crucial situation, you better learn how to take an order and say, 'Yes ma'am,' and ' _Please_!' _Do you understand_?!”  
  
Boomer and Bubbles gaped at her. Buttercup was still staring fascinatedly into the distance. Butch's face had twisted into a devilish grin. “'Yes ma'am?' You got some kink in you! It's like every time I see you you just get—”  
  
“ _That's another thing_!” Blossom spat. “Stop treating me like a piece of meat and start showing some respect! Because if you call me 'doll,' again, or any variation thereof—”  
  
“Sugar? Baby? Sweetheart? Hottie? Dimepiece? The Finest Piece of Ass to Walk the Earth?” Butch pressed close, leering. “Talk to me, honey, I could go on all day, you're just so damn _cute_ when you're mad—”  
  
Those pink eyes flashed, and then there was a bigger pink flash, and suddenly Butch went flying—though crashing was probably the more appropriate term—into the side of a building.  
  
Bubbles' hands flew to her mouth and Boomer immediately crouched, shielding vital areas. “ _Aaaaagh_ ,” he whined, wincing. “I could feel that _here_.”  
  
Buttercup finally broke from her trance and turned, pointing at Butch and cackling, “ _Ha_!”  
  
Blossom lowered her raised knee and marched to the jagged hole, glaring inside. “You understand _that_?”  
  
A faint squeak of affirmation echoed from somewhere within.  
  
Blossom settled back and took a deep breath, summoning a pleased smile to her face. “Wonderful. See you at home, girls.” With a lighthearted twirl she took off, leaving a bewildered and giddy sibling each behind.  
  
Boomer seemed to suddenly recall something, and he called to Butch, “Now _that's_ a hardcore roshambo'ing. Both literally _and_ figuratively.”  
  
All Butch could manage was a tinny, “Fuck you.”  
  
.~.  
  
Each month was getting worse and worse.  
  
 _March was supposed to be a good one_ , Brick reflected bitterly as he entered the school the following morning. It was the halfway point, more or less, and the Reccardi wooing had been successful, and there'd been the promise of a car—  
  
He shut his eyes and suppressed a sigh, trying not to think about how beautifully the Coil had driven, how well it had handled, how absolutely euphoric it had been to sit behind that wheel and feel it thrum to life under his hands—  
  
He stopped walking and clenched his teeth so hard he could feel his brain vibrating in his skull. _Damn it_.  
  
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, opening his eyes as he stiffly resumed his journey down the hall. At least the month couldn't get any worse. What could top losing the Car Sent from Heaven the very day you got it?  
  
A few students were clustered outside the Art room, peering at the student gallery, and as Brick passed, he shot it a perfunctory glance.  
  
His eyes widened and he stopped, his jaw dropping in panic.  
  
Plastered all over the wall were sketches— _his sketches_ —of Blossom.  
  
.~.  
  
This was not going to be like the confrontation that had led to Butch's and Buttercup's fight. He wasn't making another scene. He wasn't following through with the first plan of action that had jumped to mind, which had involved frying the wall, or at the very least ripping down all of his sketches. Throwing a tantrum would just tell everybody it bothered him and give them even more ideas about _why_ it might bother him. All of which would be wrong, of course. He hated her. Plain and simple.  
  
It had just been an assignment! There was nothing to get worked up about! As long as he appeared calm about it, so long as he didn't make a fuss, no one else would...  
  
So he stalked into the Art room (calmly), slammed the door (calmly), and said in a strained (yet very calm!) hiss to Miss Maybury, “ _Why are those sketches up on that wall_?”  
  
His teacher looked up, beaming. “Oh, Brick! You saw! I just put them up this morning.”  
  
She seemed not to have heard what he'd said. Brick tried again. “Why did you put those sketches up?”  
  
Miss Maybury blinked. “Don't tell me you don't like them? They're beautiful!”  
  
“That's... neither here nor there,” Brick choked out. “I didn't realize you were going to take them and throw them up in the hall! Those were in my sketchbook! I turned them in for a _participation_ grade!”  
  
“Brick, you signed the form at the beginning of the year allowing any art you turn in while in this class—including sketches that you turn in for a participation grade—to be displayed in the student gallery.”  
  
“Okay, firstly, _that's a hallway_. That is not a gallery.”  
  
“Oh, don't be mean,” Miss Maybury said, clucking her tongue. “It's high school. We'll take what we can get.”  
  
“Secondly, _I don't want those sketches up_.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Brick blinked and stammered, “Be-because I just don't! Do I need a reason?”  
  
Miss Maybury sighed. “I suppose not. It _is_ your work. Tell you what, I've got some other things to handle before class starts, but I'll take them down around lunch or so—”  
  
“I want them down _now_.” Lunch was too late, by then she'd have seen them—  
  
“Well, I'm sorry, Brick—”  
  
“Then I'll do it myself,” Brick decided, rather conclusively, and made for the door. There weren't that many people in school yet, and he wasn't going to make a scene, he'd just say... say he was unhappy with how they'd turned out, had gotten permission from the teacher to take them down if anyone asked, and then glare at them for good measure—  
  
He swung the door open, and Blossom jumped, startled. Brick stalled, the breath in his body suddenly sucked into some invisible black hole. They stood staring wide-eyed at each other in the hall, her hands clutching her books to her chest, his own tightening around the doorknob.  
  
Her gaze flicked back to the wall beside him, a hurried, utterly confused and disbelieving glance, and though it only took her a second he knew instantaneously what she was looking at—the charcoal curve of her body, the angle and arc of her limbs, the flutter of hair that dusted each page (too many pages, why, why, _why_ had he sketched so many), and the signature twin peaked bow that gave every last one of them away.  
  
And beneath it all, a neat little card bearing the name of the student who'd drawn them.  
  
.~.  
  
“Oh, what's the big deal?” Bubbles said in a soothing voice as Blossom hovered by her locker. “They're really beautiful sketches!”  
  
Blossom's jaw tensed as she swallowed. “That's just the _thing_. I didn't... I didn't expect him to, you know, be... _good_ at something.” After a pause, she added, “Except destroying things, but that's beside the point—”  
  
“Yeah, I was the same way at first, but then I saw his drawings—”  
  
“And they're of _me_ ,” Blossom went on, reaching up to rub her neck. She squeezed her own shoulder several times, trying to unravel this utterly nonsensical turn of events. “I mean, what reason would he have to sketch _me_? We don't... we hate each other! Is this part of some... plot? Some weird thing he's doing to psyche me out?” That was the only thing that made sense—  
  
“Why would he want to psyche you out?” Bubbles said dubiously, tugging at her sister's arm. “Come on, I'll walk you to the cafeteria—oh, or are you going to the studio or the courtyard—”  
  
“Studio,” Blossom immediately answered as they started walking. Bubbles gave her a look; she'd said it in an unnaturally loud voice. Blossom cleared her throat and repeated, “Studio, I'm going to the studio today.”  
  
“Don't feel like keeping an eye on Brick?” Bubbles pressed. “I mean, in case he's plotting, or up to something—”  
  
“Don't tease,” Blossom said reproachfully. “I'm being serious. You guys have Art together, surely you would have noticed anything... out of the ordinary...”  
  
“Nothing. Honestly, Blossom, maybe he just thinks you're a good dancer—which you are, by the way—and besides, he _wanted_ you to sub for Cindy—”  
  
“That was an emergency, and besides, who else was he going to ask? What was he going to do? He was desperate!”  
  
“Yeah, but even if he was desperate, he wouldn't have begged you—”  
  
“ _Asked_ ,” Blossom corrected—  
  
“—if he didn't think you were good,” Bubbles finished, undeterred. “Honestly, Blossom, you could feel a little flattered. I'd be beside myself if someone sketched _me_ half as well. I mean, isn't that something?”  
  
“They're just drawings,” Blossom mumbled, partly to herself.  
  
“They're not _just_ drawings,” Bubbles countered, intent on killing Blossom's rationalizing. “That's how you look when you're dancing—you look beautiful. Beautiful enough that even someone who totally hates you can't help but try to capture that beauty on paper. That's like... art.”  
  
The two of them stopped, having reached the hallway leading to the studio, and Blossom glanced at her sister's beatific smile.  
  
She wasn't telling Bubbles everything. Just as it had on the night of Mrs. Morbucks' charity performance, Brick's art captured that intoxicating sensation that overcame her when she was at her happiest, when she danced. Those sketches in the hall felt so vivid; as her eyes had fallen upon those lines, she had felt her muscles tensing, as if she had actually been dancing at that very moment and not standing dumbly still. And both the sketches and the giant painting had—supposedly—been inspired by her.  
  
She didn't want someone like Brick—with his background, his tendency towards evil—to see her like that. It was... unnerving, to think of herself as, as his _muse_ , as someone who could move him to anything other than angry yelling or the suppressed desire to punch her in the mouth. Unnerving. It was unnerving. Not to mention confusing.  
  
“I'm going to go practice for my audition,” Bubbles said suddenly, and Blossom blinked.  
  
“Oh... okay. Um... I'll try to come this afternoon.”  
  
“Don't worry about it,” Bubbles chirped. “Will's going to be there. You need to focus on the choreography, anyway.” She turned to head for the Choir hall. “Bye, Blossom!”  
  
Blossom held up a hand and managed a feeble wave as she watched her sister disappear into the crowd.  
  
.~.  
  
“Come on, Brick.” Boomer prodded his miserable brother, who was on his back in the courtyard as he stared vacantly at the sky. “Why did you leave them up, anyway, if they bother you so much?”  
  
“There wouldn't have been a _point_ ,” Brick said in a clipped tone. “If anything, it'd have made things worse. Then everyone would _know_ it bothered me—bothers me—and it would've made the entire thing seem way more significant than it is.” He lifted his head to look at Boomer. “And it isn't significant, by the way.”  
  
Boomer stared at him. “Dude. I didn't say anything.”  
  
Brick stared back for a long moment. “You were thinking it.”  
  
“Um, no, I wasn't—”  
  
“Yes, you were,” Brick commanded, and thumped his head back against the grass.  
  
Boomer looked around, noting the empty corner of courtyard typically occupied by Blossom. “I see she took it well.”  
  
“No, nothing was taken. She took nothing. She did that whole deer-in-the-headlights look and then scampered off like the frightened little woodland creature she is.”  
  
“Ah, yes.” Boomer nodded sagely. “So she definitely took it well.”  
  
“I just told you nothing was taken, didn't I?”  
  
“You know, you could've moved,” Boomer pointed out. “When your class visited theirs, I mean.”  
  
Brick sighed. “All the other dancers sucked, honestly—I wasn't about to fail just 'cause—”  
  
Boomer frowned. “Did it matter who you drew? I thought you said it was just for a participation grade?”  
  
“Are we done talking about this yet?” Brick snapped, and Boomer shifted to stand.  
  
“Sorry, man. I've got to go to the Choir hall, anyway.”  
  
Brick narrowed his eyes. “You're serious about this musical thing?”  
  
Boomer made a noncommittal shrug and waved. “Peace out, bro.”  
  
Brick grunted a response and sat up, watching Boomer stride back into the school. His eyes passed over the rest of the courtyard—now that the weather was warmer, more students were bringing their lunches outdoors. His gaze lingered on the empty bench in the corner, keenly aware of the absence of those hard, piercing eyes.  
  
After a moment's consideration, he stood up and left. He'd get to Government early today.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom hadn't wound up going to the studio at all. She'd realized she was too distracted to dance; it was too hard to separate herself from those sketches, so she'd wandered up to her next class early.  
  
Apparently Brick had had the same idea.  
  
She looked up as the door opened, then started. For the second time that day, Brick halted in the process of opening a door.  
  
Instead of staring, though, Blossom averted her eyes. She regretted it almost instantly—how could she show weakness at such a crucial moment? The sketches were some sort of challenge; he hadn't taken them down...  
  
To her dismay he entered the room rather than leaving it. His desk was two rows away and one ahead of her; she watched in her peripheral vision as he took his seat.  
  
“Oh, be right back, guys, I've got to drop off something next door,” the Government teacher suddenly said, and they gaped at him as he exited. The slam of the door echoed, calling too much attention to the awkward silence in the room.  
  
Blossom directed her attention back to her desk, trying to eliminate any possibility of their eyes meeting by chance. She hoped he was doing the same. Hoped hoped hoped. He wasn't looking at her, was he? She couldn't tell; she felt way too agitated to sense anything properly. Maybe if she hoped hard enough, they'd sit here in silence until the teacher got back, or until class started and then there'd be all these people between them to act as a safe little buffer zone, hope hope hope hope hope hope hope—  
  
“It doesn't mean anything,” Brick announced, cutting into her concentration, and Blossom blinked in surprise. She looked up—his gaze was serious as it met hers, though it looked like he was forcing himself to look her in the eye.  
  
She felt a sudden blush rise to her face— _for absolutely no good reason_ —and said, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Good. Wait. No, what?” She wrinkled her face at him. “I didn't even say anything.”  
  
He waved his hand a little haphazardly in the air. “I sensed you thinking it. I... sense things.”  
  
“What makes you think I'd think it means anything? What are you doing drawing me anyway?” Blossom's mouth was struggling to keep up with her brain, which had very graciously decided to _stop working_.  
  
He instantly went on the defensive. “You were, like, right in front of me—”  
  
“You could've moved—”  
  
“I was proving a point!”  
  
“What point?”  
  
He struggled for a second, then choked out, “I was just doing the assignment!”  
  
“But why me?” she cried.  
  
“Because you dance good!” he conceded in a loud, awkward voice. He grimaced and amended, “Well! You dance well! Christ, I can't even form a sentence!” He glared at her. “Stop thinking it means something!”  
  
“I didn't say anything!”  
  
“ _I can sense things_!”  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles laughed as she clung to Will's arm amidst the crowded hall. Class had just let out, and she was getting that familiar, fluttery feeling in her stomach in anticipation of her audition. She squeezed against her boyfriend's arm, then caught sight of a familiar tousle of blond hair.  
  
Without thinking, she waved. “Hey!”  
  
Both Boomer and Will blinked in surprise as the three converged. Boomer cracked a wide smile. “Hey, yourself.”  
  
“Thanks for your help yesterday,” she continued.  
  
“Any time,” he said earnestly. “We make a good team—”  
  
“Come on, Bubbles,” Will interjected, pulling her along, and Bubbles waved as Boomer was swept up in the crowd. “What's that all about?”  
  
She looked up. “Huh?”  
  
“You guys hanging out?”  
  
“There was a huge monster attack yesterday,” Bubbles said. “He and his brothers came to help—well, Butch was more interested in goofing off, and Brick wasn't really helping until his car got trashed—”  
  
“I don't trust that guy,” Will grumbled. “The way he went after you bugs me.”  
  
Bubbles plastered herself to her boyfriend's side, unperturbed, and grinned. “You've totally got nothing to worry about. I _love_ you. I'd never date him anyway. Not in a million bajillion years.”  
  
“And what's he doing helping you fight monsters, anyway?”  
  
He sure was dwelling on this. A thin line formed on Bubbles' brow, but she smiled and said, “He actually was a great help—it was really crowded, and there were a whole bunch of these buggy baby monsters that totally mobbed me—”  
  
“What do you need his help for?”  
  
Bubbles paused, blinking as the meaning behind his words sunk in. After a moment, she said, “Will. Listen. I love you.”  
  
He sighed. “I know, it's just... since you've... I mean, we haven't been hanging out as much anymore—”  
  
“Bubbles!” Kim cried from across the hall, waving to get her friend's attention. “Are you auditioning or what?”  
  
“I'll be right there!” Bubbles assured her, urging Kim to go ahead. “Oh, I'm all nervous!” she squeaked, shaking her hands and taking a deep inhale. She turned those giant baby blues on Will and said in relief, “I'm so glad you're going to be there, I—”  
  
The look on his face made her stop dead. That wasn't the face of a supportive, equally excited boyfriend. That was the face of a guy who had just realized he was well and thoroughly screwed.  
  
“Shoot,” he winced, his preoccupation with Boomer suddenly forgotten. “Was that today?”  
  
“Wh-what? What do you _mean_ , 'was that today?!'”  
  
He sighed and closed his eyes. “I promised the guys I'd—”  
  
“You promised _me_!” Bubbles cried, voice climbing in pitch. “Last week! You said you had nothing going on, you said—”  
  
“Baby, I know, but here's the thing, I mean, I'm graduating in a couple of months, and me and the team, we're all going our different ways, we're not going to see each other after that—”  
  
“You promised me _first_ ,” she said, her tone going firm. “You can reschedule, you guys can do it tomorrow—”  
  
“Look, it's a bunch of guys getting together and with all the stuff going on and college visits and whatever, it's hard for us to find a day where we can all meet up,” Will fought back, the remorse in his expression fading into irritation. “If it's that important to you, why can't you push your audition back—”  
  
Bubbles goggled at him. “I've been psyching myself up about this for a _week_! I'm all ready to go today, I'm not going to push it back—”  
  
“You were freaking out about it just five seconds ago—”  
  
“ _It's called nervous energy_!” she shrieked, hoping he couldn't see her misty eyes. “I'm _not_ pushing this back! You promised me you would be there! You promised me _first_!”  
  
That look, the look that always entered a person's expression just before they said something they would instantly regret, entered Will's. “What is your _deal_? You've been acting like this ever since you dropped Cheer for Choir, and you barely hang out with the group anymore, and you're always asking me to do all this shit that you _know_ I'm not interested in in the _first place_!”  
  
Bubbles felt the heat spilling out of her eyes, down her face. In the next instant she tore off, nothing but a bright blue streak weaving amidst the sparse after-school crowd that dotted the halls.  
  
.~.  
  
Kim spotted Bubbles as she entered the Choir Hall and hissed at her, “ _Finally_! You said you'd be right over like twenty minutes ago! I was afraid you weren't going to show up!”  
  
A desolate Bubbles shuffled toward her. “Sorry.”  
  
Kim reached for her hand and tugged. “Come on, you're lucky they're only six girls in, you're Number Sixteen...” She paused, catching sight of Bubbles' eyes. “... Are you okay? Have you been crying?”  
  
“I don't think I'm auditioning today, Kim,” Bubbles said quietly. She doubted Will was coming, and it was too late to beg her sisters to come. “I'm too upset. I'm going to ask Dr. Wendell to push mine back to tomorrow—”  
  
“There _aren't_ any auditions tomorrow!” Kim cried, continuing to pull Bubbles toward the door, behind which echoed the wavery voice of an adolescent soprano and the faint piano that accompanied her. “You were all keyed up about this at lunch! What happened?”  
  
“I just can't do it today,” Bubbles whimpered, shaking her head. “I can't. I'll talk to Dr. Wendell, if I explain, I—”  
  
She cut off, staring through the slim window of the Choir Room door in surprise. After a long second, she whispered to Kim, “What's he doing here?”  
  
Kim glanced at Boomer seated at the edge of the bleachers, a bored look on his face as he stared at the girl singing. “Open auditions, anyone can sit in—”  
  
“ _I know_ ,” Bubbles said desperately, thinking back to how Will had reacted when she'd told him about the monster attack. “I mean, what's he doing _here_!”  
  
“He's been here since before the first audition,” Kim elaborated as the audition finished to scattered applause and Boomer glanced around the room, sighing. His eyes passed over the door and he paused, catching sight of Bubbles.  
  
“Oh, no,” Bubbles whispered as he rose and started for the door. She ripped her arm from Kim's and strode away.  
  
“ _Hey_!” The door clattered shut and suddenly Boomer was in front of her. “There you are!”  
  
She bit her lip and stared at the floor, hoping to spare herself the misery of Boomer noticing she'd been crying. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”  
  
“Me? I came 'cause I heard you were auditioning today.”  
  
Bubbles blinked, stunned, and looked up. “What?”  
  
He stared at her, then pointed at the sheet posted in the Hall. “There. It says you're auditioning today.” Concern suddenly was awash on his face, and he said in a soothing voice, “Did you forget? That's cool, because I get worked up sometimes, you know, and _I_ forget things—”  
  
“She's a little... upset,” Kim said, appearing at Bubbles' shoulder.  
  
Bubbles took a deep breath and nodded. “I'm asking Dr. Wendell if I can push my audition back.”  
  
The look on Boomer's face suggested deep, hurt confusion. “What? Why?” Before she could respond, he was on his knees, grabbing her hands. “No, please, you gotta audition today. _Please_. You gotta, you gotta audition now—”  
  
Something in the back of Bubbles' mind was suggesting to her that this had to be some sort of joke, and she managed a bewildered laugh and stumbled back into Kim as she gently tried to tug herself away. “Um, wow, this sure means a lot to you—”  
  
“You have no idea how long I've been looking forward to this,” he clarified, and Bubbles stopped pulling away. “I swear, this is the one thing I've been looking forward to, like, ever since I heard about the musical, and now you're telling me you're pushing it back after I sat through all that crappy singing?”  
  
“You're lucky I haven't gone up yet,” Kim interjected, a little resentfully.  
  
“I gotta hear you sing,” Boomer barreled on, beseeching Bubbles as he clasped his hands together and made puppy-eyes at her. “ _Pleeeeaaase_?”  
  
Bubbles stared at him.  
  
.~.  
  
“Number Ten's just starting,” Kim announced as she shut the door to the practice room behind them.  
  
“I'm _not_ auditioning today,” Bubbles said firmly, taking a deep breath and glancing at a beaming Boomer. “This is just practice.”  
  
He really was beaming. If he beamed any more Bubbles was going to need sunglasses. “Thank you. For like the billionth time.”  
  
“I could use the practice,” Bubbles rationalized, clearing her throat and humming. “I haven't warmed up, even.”  
  
Kim was settling on the floor while Boomer stood. “You can warm up, if you want to,” he ventured hopefully. “I wouldn't mind hearing you—”  
  
“That's okay,” she said, and took a deep inhale. Boomer and Kim stared back at her. He looked exceptionally attentive.  
  
She let the air puff out her cheeks and blew it out. “I'm... I'm really sorry,” she sighed, weakly grinning through her wince as she covered her face. “Could you, um... could you turn around?”  
  
Boomer and Kim exchanged a glance. He looked back at her and pointed to himself. “Me?”  
  
“Yeah.” Bubbles nodded and lowered her hands to her mouth. “It's just, you're really, _really_ focused on me, and it's a little, um... nerve-wracking.” She hunched her shoulders up apologetically. “I'm sorry.”  
  
“No worries,” he said, and turned to face the wall. “Thanks. For like—”  
  
“The billionth time, I know.” She took a deep breath and stared at Kim and Boomer's back. Kim lifted her eyebrows and jerked her head in Boomer's direction.  
  
Bubbles shook it off and started to sing.  
  
.~.  
  
“Bubbles, you sound _sooo_ good,” Kim said in disbelief as she jumped to her feet and hugged her friend. “You have _got_ to audition today.”  
  
Bubbles squeezed back, feeling worlds better than she had before. “Thanks, Kim,” she whispered.  
  
“I'm going to go see what number they're on,” Kim said hurriedly, and dashed out of the practice room. “ _You have to audition today_!” her voice echoed back.  
  
Bubbles smiled after her, then turned her attention to Boomer as he turned away from the wall. “So...” she said warily, trying to read that expression of his, “what'd you think?”  
  
He looked at her, his eyes intense, and instead of his usual smile his mouth was slightly parted in awe. The sudden sense of an impending attack coiled in the pit of Bubbles' stomach.  
  
“That was incredible,” he said, and that coil of hers unfurled into butterflies. He shook his head. “When you do audition, you have to let me know. I gotta hear that again.”  
  
She blushed and hunched into herself. “Thank you,” she said shyly.  
  
“You've got such an amazing voice,” he breathed, and she looked up. “No joke. I could sit here and listen to you all day.”  
  
“You'd get sick of it eventually,” she laughed.  
  
“No,” he said, his expression suddenly uncharacteristically grave, and he shook his head. “No. I could never get sick of you.”  
  
Her lips parted and she stared at him, that heat suddenly welling in her eyes again for entirely different reasons now. He caught the shift in her expression and instantly backpedaled, apologetic. “I mean, of your singing! Of your singing, that wasn't a come-on, I'm sorry—”  
  
He broke off as she stepped towards him, reaching out an arm. She stopped midway, fighting the urge to hug him, to pull him close. Her sisters always said she got too emotional about stuff like this.  
  
 _But it's always stuff that matters_ , she thought to herself, tears welling in her eyes as she lowered her arm and clenched her fists at her sides. _It matters to me_. And to have someone here right now, who was saying the things he was saying...  
  
He blinked in shock. “Bubbles?”  
  
“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes trained on the floor as her vision clouded and wishing, wishing she could have a hug. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Bubbles, you're up,” Dr. Wendell announced, and she stood, clearing her throat. The assistant director, seated at the piano, smiled and held out her hand for Bubbles' music.  
  
Dr. Wendell examined his notes as she took her place by the baby grand. “Auditioning for Melody, the lead?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Bubbles responded, glancing at the faces around the room. The thought that Will might have shown up when she wasn't looking flickered in her heart, a little beacon of hope, but he was nowhere to be seen. An approving Kim, though, waved at her from the front row. Seated a couple chairs away from her on the second row of bleachers was Boomer.  
  
She glanced at him, then averted her eyes, swallowing. “Whenever you're ready,” Dr. Wendell urged, and she took a deep breath. In and out, slowly. _Calm down. It's going to go fine, everything's going to be just great_ —  
  
“Oh!” Everybody, Bubbles included, snapped their head up, looking to Boomer as he loudly maneuvered his chair to face the back of the risers. He raised a hand to Bubbles, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. I forgot.” He sat down, his back turned to her, and Bubbles stifled the stupid laugh that threatened to spill out of her throat.  
  
“Um, Bubbles?”  
  
“Yes, Dr. Wendell.” She nodded to the assistant director, and soft notes began pouring from the piano next to her. Bubbles bobbed her head lightly, in time to the music, glancing at Boomer's back one last time before her voice took over, in perfect harmony with the instrument.  
  
.~.  
  
“So your audition yesterday went well?”  
  
Bubbles pressed against Will's side half-heartedly and shrugged, watching the morning school crowd mill about. “Went fine.” It had actually gone great, super fantastic awesome great, but she was still kind of upset with him and thought he ought to try and earn the right answer out of her. “I kinda wish you'd been there.”  
  
“Aw, you didn't need me to be awesome,” he said in a placating voice, pecking her cheek.  
  
 _Not the point_ , she thought to herself bitterly, but Will wasn't looking so he missed her petulant face.  
  
“So yesterday, me and the guys—”  
  
Bubbles started to tune him out and raked her eyes across the school. No real reason, just a casual sweep of the area, no motivation behind it. Her gaze settled on Boomer and the rest of the band, with Buttercup and Mitch flanking either end of the group. Butch was with them, too. They looked like they were having a good time, laughing at something Boomer'd said. She was just starting to think how nice it was that Buttercup was hanging out with the guys again when those blue eyes flicked in her direction—  
  
She turned back to Will. “You know who showed up to the auditions yesterday?”  
  
Will halted in his story, perplexed at the interruption. “Huh?”  
  
“Guess who showed up yesterday,” she pressed.  
  
He knit his eyebrows together. “What? Weren't we just talking about the gang?”  
  
“Just guess,” she wheedled, shaking his arm.  
  
He rolled his eyes. “The Pope.”  
  
She slumped her shoulders and gave him a look. “Yes, Will. The Pope totally showed up. How did you ever guess?”  
  
He shrugged, leaning over to fix his shoelaces. After a second, Bubbles looked back at the group. Butch leaned over to do something she couldn't see since the twins were in the way, and Boomer laughed and shoved him off.  
  
“So who really showed up?” Will suddenly asked, and Bubbles looked back at her boyfriend.  
  
She shook her head. “Nah. Nobody important. Forget it.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Bubbles,” Blossom sighed, “you neglected to mention that this musical I'm helping Dr. Wendell choreograph is about _zombies_.”  
  
“That,” Buttercup said in a solemn voice on Blossom's other side, “sounds so _awesome_.”  
  
“A bunch of kids from the theater department wrote it,” Bubbles said. “Did you read the script? It's really good, and it should be a little easier to choreograph too, since it's a jukebox musical—”  
  
“Seriously,” Buttercup continued, “this is probably the one and only musical you will ever get me to go to—”  
  
“I am choreographing a zombie dance!” Blossom cried. “You guys have asked me to choreograph a dance in which re-animated corpses are walking and talking!”  
  
“And singing,” Bubbles said.  
  
“This sounds like _the best idea ever_ ,” Buttercup announced.  
  
“Are you sincerely auditioning to be a zombie?” Blossom asked.  
  
“No, I'm auditioning for Melody, the girl who starts it all by casting some spell or something to bring her dead boyfriend back to life. Then zombies happen, and her boyfriend comes back, but it's been too long and she's already got a new boyfriend—”  
  
“I read the script,” Blossom said shortly. “There's no need for a play-by-play.”  
  
Bubbles shrugged. “I was doing it for Buttercup's benefit, anyway.” She leaned over to elaborate. “Then he gets upset and leads a zombie revolution to try and get her back.”  
  
“I reiterate. Best. Idea. _Ever_.”  
  
Blossom groaned as Bubbles brightened. “Hey, I'm about to go watch the boys audition. You guys want to come?”  
  
Buttercup actually looked disappointed. “I'm going out with the guys.”  
  
“I'm busy in the studio,” Blossom apologized, then added sarcastically, “I don't know if you've heard, but I've got to figure out how to choreograph a zombie musical.”  
  
“Yes, that _is_ pretty serious.” Bubbles gave a firm nod. “Best of luck.”  
  
.~.  
  
Once again, Bubbles found herself staring through the slim window of the Choir Room door at a familiar blond boy. Once again, she whispered to Kim, “What's he doing here?”  
  
“Open auditions,” Kim said, but she was looking suspicious herself. “I mean, anyone can watch—”  
  
“Anyone can audition, too. I saw his name on the list,” Bubbles said quietly, her eyes on his guitar. Auditions hadn't started yet, and Dr. Wendell was eyeing Boomer's instrument as well, albeit with much disdain.  
  
“He must've added it yesterday, before he left,” Kim said. “It wasn't there at the beginning of yesterday's auditions.”  
  
The Choir department was significantly lacking in boys, which meant that come time to put on the annual musical the Choir often drew upon the rest of the Fine Arts pool to fill in the holes. There were some Theater kids scattered throughout the waiting parties and a few even from Band and Orchestra. Next to them, Boomer looked kind of out of place.  
  
He glanced out the window, lighting up as he caught Bubbles' eye. In a flash, he was at the door, swinging it wide as he said excitedly, “Come to cheer me on?”  
  
.~.  
  
Dr. Wendell frowned as Boomer strolled to the center of the room, guitar in hand. Bubbles, who was seated just behind Dr. Wendell, surreptitiously peered over his shoulder at his clipboard.  
  
“Auditioning for Romero,” Dr. Wendell said slowly, making some notes to himself. “The lead.”  
  
“The other guy'll do, too,” Boomer said. He ignored the warning look Bubbles shot him. “You know, the current boyfriend?”  
  
“What's your motivation for trying out?” Dr. Wendell asked.  
  
Boomer shrugged, smiling at Bubbles. “I like singing.”  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
Boomer considered. “Would... you rather me not like singing?”  
  
“Sometimes,” Bubbles uttered under her breath, but only Boomer heard it. He pouted.  
  
“Do you have any music, or are you auditioning a cappella?”  
  
Boomer patted his guitar. “I was planning on playing accompaniment myself.”  
  
The director got a strange look in his eye. His students were already familiar with how he felt about auditions from the non-performing arts students, who generally lacked training and talent. Students in rock bands caused him particular ire, as most of them couldn't even name a composer or differentiate between treble and bass clefs.  
  
“Actually, I'd rather hear you perform without the guitar,” Dr. Wendell said. “I'm afraid it might... distract us from the quality of your voice.”  
  
Boomer blinked. “Really?”  
  
Dr. Wendell nodded. “For these auditions, we really prefer our students to either perform with the piano, or a cappella.”  
  
The boy considered, and glanced at the piano. “Okay,” he relented, and pointed at the baby grand. “I'll play that.”  
  
Several jaws in the room dropped, Bubbles' among them.  
  
“You play?” Dr. Wendell sputtered.  
  
“Since _when_?” Bubbles squeaked, and several people glanced at her.  
  
Boomer looked at them as he carefully set his guitar aside and took his place at the bench. “I'm ready when you guys are. Wait, scratch that. Hold on a sec.”  
  
He tapped a few keys on the instrument, experimenting. Bubbles cringed; she didn't play, but she could tell that he was an amateur. What was he doing, he was going to make such an idiot of himself—  
  
His eyes clouded over, and he played a few chords, then suddenly launched into the opening strains of a stunningly complicated classical piece. He might as well have set off a bomb; the room practically flat-lined from the shock of watching his hands flying across the keys—  
  
“Rachmaninoff,” Kim whispered beside her; she'd taken ten years of piano. “That's... that's insane.”  
  
The music stopped abruptly, and Boomer settled back, pleased. “Okay. Warmed up. I'm good now.” He looked inquisitively at the director, whose mouth was primed for the flies. “You ready?”  
  
Dr. Wendell nodded, slowly. Boomer's gaze flicked briefly to Bubbles, his delight at her astonished expression evident.  
  
“All right,” he said modestly, shooting Bubbles an amused sidelong glance as his hands hovered over the keys. “Here goes nothing.”  
  
 _-end Ch. 3-_


	4. Dancing Around the Issue, or Turnabout's Fair Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: For mathkid and JoJoDancer, who were the prettiest girls at Prom (and still are)!
> 
> Kudos to Freak87 for the Santa catch in Ch2! (I regret to inform everyone that that was intentional; I purposely forsook canon in that case because I liked the rhythm of the line too much. I am sorry.)
> 
> The lovely, gorgeous Jupitrie did fanart for my fic! It's lovely and I can't believe someone thought enough of my fic to make fanart for it ;_; Please check it out at her devart (linked to in her profile; it's not that hard to find).  
> This is my longest chapter yet *facepalm* Sorry that I am bad about replying to reviews (I do much better on my lj; it's easier to keep track of who I've responded to!), but I do love hearing from you guys and appreciate all the feedback so far. If you have anything to comment about, please do! Getting those Author Alerts are neat, but the Review Alerts are way neater :)
> 
> 3/20/11 update – Fixed the formatting issues; breaks now appear as they should. Lynne's name has been changed to Melody per xxlonelyxgrlxx's catch (thank you!).

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester  
April – Dancing Around the Issue** or **Turnabout’s Fair Play**  
 _-sbj-_  
  
Bubbles sat with Kim and Mary and a few of the other girls from Choir, pretending not to be interested in their conversation. She poked at her lunch.  
  
“I missed his audition,” Mary wailed. “What did he do? How was it?”  
  
“Like _mind-blowing_ ,” Kim said, disgustedly impressed. “Before he even started singing he sat at the piano and launched into Rachmaninoff's Presto in E minor— _as a warm-up piece_ —”  
  
“So what about the singing?”  
  
Kim's mouth clamped shut and she shot Bubbles a look. “Yes, _Bubbles_ ,” she pressed, “why don't you tell us about Boomer's singing?”  
  
“He sings good,” Bubbles said, sipping at her soda.  
  
“Is that all you have to say?” Kim asked dryly.  
  
Bubbles swallowed a bite of her food before responding. “He's got a good range on him. And he _is_ very animated. He'd probably do very well if he were to get a part—”  
  
“He basically serenaded her,” one of the other girls who had been present at the auditions cut in, and Bubbles' mouth thinned as the girls exploded into _squee_ s and giggles.  
  
“He did _not_ serenade me,” Bubbles declared, trying to set the record straight. “He was auditioning for the role of the lovesick, broken-hearted zombie boy, so naturally he would pick something sweet and sensitive to sing—”  
  
“He was looking at Bubbles like, the entire time,” Kim interrupted.  
  
“I was sitting behind Dr. Wendell!” Bubbles cried.  
  
“Oh yeah, Bubbles,” another girl snorted. “Dr. Wendell's _totally_ his type.”  
  
“Dr. Wendell got all excited,” Kim added. “I think he was really surprised by how versatile Boomer's voice was. I mean, how many high school boys do you know who can hit the notes he did yesterday? Not to mention he had this really fluid, pleasant sound—”  
  
“You act like he's already got the part,” Bubbles said. “A couple of the other guys were pretty good too. We've still got a few rounds of auditions to go through. Plus they'll be pairing guys and girls next week to see how we sound together; he might not sound as good when he's got to harmonize with another voice.”  
  
“Oh, God, I hope I make it past the first round of auditions,” one of the girls sighed. “I'd _love_ the opportunity to sing with Boomer.”  
  
Bubbles bit her lip and poked at her food as this ushered in another round of girlish cooing. Honestly.  
  
She looked around the cafeteria, wondering where he was spending lunch today. Then she remembered she didn't care, and went back to her food, irritated with herself for no good reason.  
  
Honestly.  
  
“Say,” one of the girls suddenly recalled, her voice sounding far away beyond Bubbles' muddled thoughts, “who do you think he's taking to Prom?”  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom furrowed her brow as she passed Bubbles on the way to lunch—the girl looked mighty distracted, but perked up when she saw Blossom, so it couldn't be serious. Still...  
  
Blossom's pace slowed in the hall where the art gallery resided, her eyes furtively lingering on the portion of wall layered with Brick's sketches of her in movement. A little tremor rippled through her chest, and she frowned at the reaction and pushed forward, tearing her eyes from the wall.  
  
“Hey, Blossom,” a deep voice beside her suddenly boomed, and she looked to see a member of the basketball team grinning nervously at her.  
  
She beamed politely at him and returned the greeting as they entered the cafeteria hall. Robin caught her eye, and Blossom waved at the boy before running to join her friend at her lunch table.  
  
Robin gaped at her. “You totally just blew that guy off.”  
  
“Huh?” Blossom blinked, glancing around. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Robin rolled her eyes as her friend sat. “He's probably been working up the nerve to ask you to Prom for weeks—”  
  
Blossom started, her jaw dropping. “Oh my God. Prom. I totally forgot.”  
  
“I thought that's what you wanted to talk about,” Robin said, peering at Blossom's lunch. “Did Buttercup make that?”  
  
“Huh? Oh, yeah—”  
  
“I want a bite,” Robin said automatically, and took one without waiting for a reply. “Oh God, heavenly. Tell your sister I want to marry her. Anyway, seriously, I haven't seen you at lunch in ages. When you asked if you could eat with me I assumed you wanted to talk about Prom. Are you done watching Brick?”  
  
Blossom suppressed a wince. “I'm... taking a break from that. Keeping an eye on the guys is more... taxing on my system than I'd realized. I didn't even know Prom was coming up, geez. It's in a couple of weeks...”  
  
“Are you going?”  
  
“I... maybe. I've been so distracted I hadn't been thinking about it. If I get asked, I might—”  
  
Robin stifled a snort. “Excuse me? ' _If_ you get asked?' What on Earth makes you think you wouldn't?”  
  
Blossom hunched her shoulders up helplessly. “I mean, no one's asked me yet!”  
  
Robin squinted at her. “Did you seriously already forget about that guy from the basketball team? Because that literally happened, like, five seconds ago.”  
  
“I didn't even know he was asking me!”  
  
“He didn't get the chance to,” Robin responded. “Come to think of it, I'm not so sure it's being asked to Prom that you need to worry about. You're kinda your own worst enemy, here.”  
  
“Oh, come off it,” Blossom chided. “If you're such an expert, who would ask me? Honestly.”  
  
“I can think of a couple dozen guys who’ve got you on their list,” Robin commented casually, and made a noncommittal wave of her hand behind Blossom. “Like Kris, for instance. That occasional heat lamp feeling you're getting? Occurring whenever he looks at you and his face starts burning up.”  
  
Blossom blinked in surprise and threw a furtive glance over her shoulder. “Kris?”  
  
“Kris isn’t bad,” Robin said, poking the remains of her lunch.  
  
“No,” Blossom said quietly and allowed herself a little smile. “Kris isn’t bad.”  
  
Robin eyed her. “Do I hear a ‘but’ somewhere in there?”  
  
“No,” Blossom said hastily, shrugging. “No, I just…”  
  
“Uh-huh?”  
  
Blossom opened and closed her mouth several times before shrugging again and saying, “You’re right, Kris isn’t bad.” And he wasn’t. Kris was a highly respected Student Council member, was popular, ran track, was in the top five percent of the Senior class…  
  
“You’re right,” Blossom said again. “Kris isn’t bad. I wouldn’t mind going with him.”  
  
Robin raised an eyebrow at her, examining her regally over her soda. “And yet, there’s still a ‘but’ in there.”  
  
Blossom took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Look,” she started, and paused.  
  
She caught sight of him as he was ambling down the hallway between the cafeterias, looking as bored as ever. A couple of girls sitting near the door called out, “Hey, Brick!” as he passed, and he met their eyes briefly and twitched his lips in a small semblance of a grin.  
  
That tremor she'd gotten in her chest when she'd passed his sketches in the hall made itself known again. Blossom averted her eyes as they giggled and said, her voice oddly empty, “I wouldn't mind. I wouldn't mind going with Kris at all.”  
  
.~.  
  
“I don't know what I'd do without a free block,” Buttercup declared with a contented sigh, perched cross-legged on the end of a table in Townsville Mall's food court.  
  
“Play basketball with the rest of the team?” Butch offered from the seat at her right, and Buttercup and the guys laughed.  
  
“Shut up,” she scolded, taking his box of fries and rummaging around for the good, crunchy ones.  
  
“So you heard about the zombie musical, right?” Harry asked the group. They voiced their assent.  
  
“Ugh, God, that sounds _incredible_ ,” Buttercup mumbled through her mouthful of fries. “Totally going to see that.”  
  
“Guys, they're doing a zombie movie marathon this Saturday by the cemetery,” Floyd said excitedly. “We have to go—”  
  
“Hell, yeah!”  
  
“Dude, what? By the _cemetery_?”  
  
“That's fucking ingenious. _Ingenious_.”  
  
“Am I getting any of those fucking fries back?” Butch demanded, reaching a hand for the box in Buttercup's hands.  
  
She planted her foot in his face, pulling the fries out of his reach.  
  
“No.”  
  
“You're a bitch,” he grumbled, voice muffled behind her shoe. The guys snickered.  
  
“Dude, rule of thumb,” Lloyd offered helpfully. “Guard your fries around the girl; she's fucking mercenary about 'em.”  
  
Butch finally succeeded in wresting her foot off his face and opened his mouth to retort, but his attention was seized by something at the other end of the mall. Suddenly he took off, and everybody turned to see him greet a couple of girls from school as they wandered into a lingerie store.  
  
“Oh my God, what a perv,” Buttercup scoffed, and went back to relieving Butch of his fries.  
  
The table fell into uneasy silence. The past few weeks with the old crew had been fun and painless, but only because Butch had acted as a buffer between her and the guys. He was the one who led the conversations, who offered ideas on what to do, and honestly, Buttercup had mostly communicated with him. The guys didn't try to instigate conversation with her—mostly because they didn't know what to say, she knew—and Mitch didn't talk at all, so he was barely a presence. He wasn't even here today.  
  
She slowed down her eating, trying to make the rest of the box last until Butch came back. One of the twins cleared his throat, and Buttercup glanced at him briefly.  
  
“Hey, Buttercup,” Harry finally said, making an effort not to sound awkward.  
  
“Yeah?” She didn't look up from her fries.  
  
“Um... we're doing this... uh... there's a band coming to town, and... well...”  
  
“Spit it out,” she ordered, still not looking up.  
  
Floyd cut in. “Are you going to Prom?”  
  
Buttercup's hand twitched briefly as she reached for another fry. She stamped down the angry panic that suddenly erupted in her chest and replied in a level, frosty tone, “ _No_.”  
  
The boys waited, evidently wondering if she had anything to add. She only munched fry after fry, trying not eyebeam the damn table. She heard them shifting, fidgeting, about to break the silence, and cut them off.  
  
“Why the fuck do _you_ wanna know?” she demanded in between violent bites.  
  
Harry, the most determined drowning man of them all, attempted to salvage the situation. “He means we're doing, like, this anti-Prom thing on Prom night. I mean, none of us are going, because that band The Fosters are coming to town, and after the show we're going to hit the old school arcade, and kill time there until the midnight movie at the theater—”  
  
“It's an old kung-fu movie from the seventies,” Lloyd interjected, “dubbed over by the audience. It's going to be amazing.”  
  
“—And, you know, we were wondering if you... wanted to come,” Harry finished lamely, swallowing as he fidgeted.  
  
She stared at him a moment before going back to her fries, a move that only further unsettled the boys. It did feel nice to be asked. It was pretty big of them to make the effort. Suddenly she was overcome with guilt. It wasn't their fault. They'd never made a pass at her, never even indicated their interest. Even if he'd been angry at the time, Mitch never should've told her that they liked her.  
  
“Buttercup,” Harry suddenly said, and she glanced up. “Look. Whatever the fuck it was we did, we're sorry.” The twins looked equally remorseful.  
  
She picked up her last fry and took her time chewing, tossing the box back onto Butch's empty tray. She swallowed.  
  
“You said it's on Prom night?” she asked, directing her question and gaze to Harry.  
  
He blinked. “Um, yeah. The last Saturday of April, that's when all this stuff is going down.”  
  
She had to ask. “Who's going?”  
  
The twins flinched, she noted. Great.  
  
“Well, us,” Harry started reluctantly. “And we asked Butch, but he hasn't said, 'Yes,' yet... and... well, Mitch...”  
  
He trailed off, his defeated expression a clear indication that he expected her to outright refuse.  
  
She shot down the little pang of anger and fear that flared up at the mention of his name and shrugged. She wasn't a fucking coward.  
  
“Yeah, alright. I'll go.”  
  
All three of them blinked in surprise. She kept her gaze level as she reached for Butch's soda, popped the lid off to sniff at it, then claimed it as her own, seconds before a triumphant Butch reappeared.  
  
“Two phone numbers! _Two_! I am _awesome_. I—” He stopped abruptly, looking around the table. “What the hell, guys? Did someone die while I was gone or what? Wait. Is that—are you drinking my fucking soda?”  
  
.~.  
  
“So... Blossom?”  
  
Blossom looked up from her locker and found Kris at her side. “Oh! Hi, Kris,” she responded, remembering what Robin had said. She granted him a friendly smile.  
  
He wove his fingers together nervously, his knuckles nearly white. “So... there’s this thing called Prom coming up.”  
  
She blinked in surprise; despite his jittery hands his voice was steady and clear. “Yeah?”  
  
“And I was... wondering.”  
  
Blossom remembered that before StuCo he'd been on the Debate team, and Model UN.  
  
He clenched his hands together, a conscious effort to stop fidgeting. “Are you planning on going?” he asked, his gaze hopeful.  
  
 _Based on his school activities, he would have a good deal of experience with speaking to a crowd_ , Blossom reflected. That was probably why his voice was so steady. He probably practiced in front of the mirror before a meet, before a speech. He might've even practiced this. But he needed to get over the fidgeting thing. All that practice and he still couldn't keep his hands still.  
  
When she didn't respond immediately, he took a deep breath and continued, “Because if you are, and you don't have a date...”  
  
Kris was smart and popular and good looking in that wholesome brown-haired, blue-eyed, boy-next-door kinda way.  
  
“I was going to ask if you'd like to go with me.”  
  
And he was asking her.  
  
 _And yet, there’s still a ‘but’ in there_.  
  
She smiled a little, then looked off to the side. “Um… let me think about it.”  
  
.~.  
  
As tended to be the case, Blossom heard Bubbles long before the blonde actually entered her line of vision.  
  
“ _Eeeeyah_!” Then a _WHOOSH_ , followed by 110 pounds of superpowered teenager plowing into Blossom at full speed. She was just thankful the rest of the student body had the sense to get out of the way as the two of them tumbled to a stop at the other end of the hall.  
  
“ _Bubbles_!”  
  
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry but… _Yeee_!” Bubbles stood up and was clapping her hands, giddily bouncing up and down. “I just heard!”  
  
“About what?” Blossom grumbled, inspecting her clothes for stains.  
  
“About _Kriiiiis_ ,” Bubbles sang, trilling the vowel in his name. “You two are totally cute together—”  
  
Blossom silenced her sister with a look, at least until Kim showed up two seconds later and asked, “Who’s totally cute together?”  
  
“Kris and Blossom!” Bubbles exploded, drawing the attention of several other people.  
  
“Would you _stop_!” Blossom cried. “I haven’t even said ‘Yes,’ yet!”  
  
“Oh, but you haven’t said ‘No,’ yet either!” her sister squealed. “He’s soooo totally the perfect guy to start with for a girl like you—”  
  
Blossom looked highly affronted. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”  
  
“Oh, you know, that whole you-not-dating-ever thing you have going on,” Bubbles clarified, brushing it off. “But anyway—”  
  
Kim interjected. “Wait, which Kris?”  
  
“Senior StuCo Track Star Smarty Hotty,” Bubbles replied.  
  
“Ooooh!” A crowd was now gathering around them and chattering their approval, much to Blossom’s chagrin. She didn’t even _recognize_ some of these people, and here they were infringing on a very personal conversation!  
  
Bubbles looked smug. “See? I dare you to find one person who doesn’t approve of this setup.”  
  
“But I haven’t even—” Blossom started, then was interrupted by a sharp _A-hem_ from just over her shoulder.  
  
The crowd instantly silenced, Bubbles included. Blossom turned and was met with a very cross Principal Keane staring them all down – a magnificent feat for a woman that just came up to Blossom’s chin.  
  
“Surely…” Ms. Keane said in a low voice, “… all present parties would be better served if you moved this conversation _away from the Principal’s Office_?!” She jabbed a finger at the door behind her.  
  
The crowd swallowed as one and began to disperse, with the occasional murmured apology peppering the air.  
  
“Sorry, Ms. Keane,” a very flustered Blossom said, and started to move away.  
  
“Don’t say ‘No,’ Blossom.”  
  
Blossom stopped in her tracks and turned back to the Principal. “I—I’m sorry?”  
  
Ms. Keane’s expression was level and cool. “Get to class,” she ordered politely, and disappeared back into her office.  
  
Bubbles was suddenly back at Blossom’s side, clinging to her arm as she steered her down the hall and began pattering on about dress shopping and limo rentals and the like.  
  
“… But I thought for sure she and Brick were—you know, together—”  
  
Blossom almost froze dead in her tracks, but with Bubbles hanging off her, she could only slow her steps as she strained to hear the muffled conversation amidst the hallway chatter.  
  
“No, he’s already asked—”  
  
Blossom’s eyes went wide and she started to turn in the direction the dialogue was coming from, even though her head said _No_ , even though her head said _What do I care_?  
  
 _I don't_ , she thought fervently to herself, and still every ounce of Blossom's superhearing strained to hear the name.  
  
“Blossom?” Bubbles’ voice dimly echoed behind her. “Blossom? What’s wrong?”  
  
.~.  
  
“Hey. Wake up. Are you planning on passing any of those back, or what?”  
  
Blossom turned and scowled at Brick before handing him the stack of English handouts they’d just received. He responded in kind, then directed his attention back to the board.  
  
Fuming, she shifted back in her seat, staring at the paper but not really focusing on the words. Behind her, Brick started to scratch out notes.  
  
Those sketches had just been for an assignment. He'd only requested she replace Cindy because he'd had no other option. It had nothing to do with her, she told herself. She resisted the urge to turn and glare at him and tried with all her might to focus on their handout.  
  
Her teeth clenched. It wasn't like she'd expected him to ask her.  
  
He was such an idiot—no, not really, he was actually ridiculously smart, but he was such a jerk about it. He was such a jerk about everything. Even about handing stupid papers back. In fact, even if he _had_ asked her, she never would’ve said yes. He was so not her type.  
  
Bubbles was right. Kris was the perfect guy to go with. He didn’t act all high and mighty, he wasn’t egotistical in the least, he was sweet and cute and he _smiled_. Like, _all the time_. Unlike Brick, who, for all his so-called “superior knowledge,” didn’t even know how to exercise the two muscles a smile required.  
  
He was a jerk. A complete, utter, jerk. And she would never even _think_ of being interested, not in a million years.  
  
.~.  
  
It was a Wednesday, meaning Buttercup had dinner duty, so she said, “Sayonara” to the group and flew home, mentally recounting tonight's ingredients in her head. The Professor was home; she could hear him working in his lab downstairs as she floated up to her and her sisters' room.  
  
She stood at the windows for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and the view of the sky as it started to redden, setting itself on fire at the edge of the world. After a few protracted glances at it, Buttercup took a deep breath and wandered over to the closet.  
  
It was still there in the back, sheathed in plastic and wedged behind layers of hoodies and tank tops and dark jeans. The dress itself looked uncomfortable, as if it'd taken a wrong turn, wound up wandering into the rough side of town, and was now trying to figure out how to exist without attracting attention.  
  
If that was the case, then the expulsion of air from the plastic as she pushed back the hangers of clothing and patted it down was perhaps a sigh of relief. Buttercup's eyes lingered on the white lace adorning the strapless top and frowned at it. Then she frowned at the green satin. Then at the white ribbon strung high on the waist.  
  
It hadn't felt like a stupid purchase at the time. It had been on sale, and she had been out with Mitch, laughing as she'd tried to work up the nerve to hold his hand without lighting up like the Fourth of July (unlike Bubbles, Buttercup was not given to public displays of affection). They'd wandered into a girly store for the fuck of it, Mitch teasing her with the more revealing articles of clothing on display, and then had stumbled upon the dress.  
  
After some back and forth on its merits and demerits, Buttercup had squared her shoulders and boldly asked, “How much would you pay to see me wear this to Prom?”  
  
Mitch had raised an eyebrow; they'd just come off of ignoring Homecoming existed and had only been dating, for real, for like a month. Plus, Prom was still half a year away.  
  
“Are you going to Prom?” he'd asked dubiously.  
  
She'd shrugged, fighting a blush. “Are you?”  
  
“If you're going,” he'd responded, smirking.  
  
That smirk killed her. She'd seen it any number of times over the years, watched it morph from an annoying tic of his to something handsome and heart-twisting, something that made her feel like kissing him every time it appeared.  
  
She'd shyly wandered up to the counter, then, and bought the dress. What a waste of money.  
  
She folded it up into her arms, hanger and all—they were picking up the trash tomorrow morning. She could probably stuff it in after it got dark, when no one was looking. She moved to push the hangers back, then paused, her gaze falling on the faded black bomber jacket that had been hiding behind the dress.  
  
She dropped the mass in her arms onto the floor and tugged out the jacket. It had that old leather smell to it, and it _was_ old—the leather had already softened and worn down long before his dad had passed it on to him, and it wasn't until years after that that Mitch had let her claim it as her own. They'd fought about it a little; he claimed it didn't fit him anymore, she knew he liked it anyway, but then he told her she looked too good in it and, well, that was that. After that she'd never taken it off.  
  
Buttercup caved in to nostalgia and slipped into it. It was still comfy, warm, and, as she cast the mirror a sidelong glance, she _did_ still look good in it. Her hands wandered into the pockets, stuffed full of things she'd never bothered pulling out. She emptied the contents onto the floor and knelt, rummaging through faded receipts for gas-station slurpees, movie tickets, loose change, hair ties with the elasticity stretched out of them, and a pack of gum with only one stick left in it. The last item she unwrapped and stuck in her mouth, chewing it soft as she crumpled the receipts and hair ties together and pocketed the loose change. She dumped the paper in the wastebasket by the closet door and returned the jacket to the back of the closet, idly tracing the “M” marked in Sharpie on the inside lining underneath the tag.  
  
It was from his dad, she reflected. She ought to give it back. But then again, he'd never asked for it.  
  
She shoved her share of the closet back into place, concealing the jacket from sight, and bent to gather up the dress when a door slammed from downstairs.  
  
“Buttercup?” the Professor's voice echoed warily. “You here?”  
  
“Oh, shit, dinner,” she hissed to herself, and stuffed the dress unceremoniously into a shelf, wedged a box in front of it, and shot out the door. “Coming, Professor!”  
  
.~.  
  
“Hey, Blossom.”  
  
Blossom looked up as she stretched, ignoring the sudden jolt that surged in her chest. “Hey, Cindy. How's your ankle?”  
  
“Way better.” Cindy sat next to Blossom and held out her leg, rotating the ankle in question. “Look at that. Wasn't a bad sprain at all; it's back one hundred percent.”  
  
“That's good. You won't miss any of the end-of-the-year stuff,” Blossom said conversationally.  
  
They stretched in silence for a moment. Then—  
  
“Hey, Blossom?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I never thanked you for covering for me... you know, that night we were supposed to do the show for Mrs. Morbucks.” Cindy looked guilty, sheepish, and Blossom shrugged.  
  
“Oh, don't mention it. It was an emergency, after all.”  
  
“Yeah, but... thanks, all the same.” After another period of silence, save for the chattering of the rest of the Company, Cindy added, “I know you don't really like him.”  
  
The way she said it sounded less like a statement and more like a question missing the _do you_? at the end. Blossom fell back onto her shoulders, extending her legs and back into a vertical line pointing to the ceiling. Of course Cindy had seen the sketches. Everyone had seen them. Everybody'd been suspicious of them.  
  
“Not really,” Blossom said, staring at the lights and holding the pose a few seconds more before kicking her legs over her head and uncurling into a standing position. “But... it was an emergency, after all,” she repeated.  
  
Cindy looked a little relieved, but she was studying her fellow officer with a look on her face that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. Well. Blossom would show her.  
  
She crouched and crooked her lips up in a smile. “I heard he asked you to Prom,” Blossom said brightly, her voice carrying in the studio over several other girls' conversations, and a cacophony of voices suddenly rang out.  
  
“Oh my God, Cindy, I heard too!”  
  
“I cannot _believe_ how insanely lucky you are.”  
  
“'Lucky?' No offense, but he's kind of an antisocial prick, you know.”  
  
“What? Who? Who asked her to Prom?”  
  
“The red one, I think.”  
  
“Brick,” Blossom answered, oddly satisfied that his name on her tongue left a bitter taste in her mouth. Good. That was normal.  
  
Her response sent a few sighs echoing around the studio. Cindy was flushed, equally embarrassed and flattered by the attention.  
  
“Wait, I thought he asked Blossom?”  
  
Cindy's blush deepened for entirely different reasons, and Blossom whirled on the girl who'd spoken, her jaw set in irritation. The girl looked horrified herself, as if she hadn't meant for it to slip.  
  
“No,” Blossom announced, her voice reverberating in the now-quiet studio. “He didn't. And I don't see why he would. We don't get along at all—”  
  
A chorus of murmurs was slowly building, and another girl who didn't have much of a sense of self-preservation asked, “But what about the sketches—”  
  
Blossom ignored the comment and swept her eyes across the reflection of all the girls in the mirror, her gaze finally settling on a wary, hopeful Cindy.  
  
She sighed and summoned a smile. “Well, _I_ think he's an enormous jerk. But I hope you two have fun anyway.”  
  
.~.  
  
“Top three.”  
  
Bubbles glanced at the list. “Really?”  
  
Kim nodded, jabbing a finger at his name. “Really.”  
  
Bubbles' eyes lit up; she wasn't staring at the name Kim's finger pointed to, but her own. “I made it to the second round of Melody auditions!”  
  
“I made zombie chorus,” Kim said, her voice pleasant. “Good enough for me.”  
  
“Oh, Kim, you should've tried out for the part of Chris' sister—”  
  
“Whose name no one can even remember? No way. She's got too many lines anyway. You know my memory isn't worth a damn.”  
  
“It's down to me and five other girls,” Bubbles murmured, frowning at the names. “Wow, tough competition. I've got my work cut out for me.”  
  
“You'll do fine,” Kim said encouragingly. “Nothing to worry about.”  
  
Bubbles' eyes drifted over to the boys' list, settling on Boomer's name. She snorted. “'Nothing to worry about.' Right.”  
  
.~.  
  
“I'm home!” Bubbles announced as she crossed the threshold.  
  
“So am I,” Blossom said in a much more subdued voice, entering behind her sister.  
  
“Buttercup, whatever that is, it smells _amazing_ ,” Bubbles said. There was a noncommittal grunt of a response from the kitchen.  
  
“Hey, Bubbles, I've been meaning to ask,” Blossom suddenly said, and her blonde sister turned, a quizzical look on her face. “Do you still have all your old Homecoming dresses?”  
  
“Yep!”  
  
Blossom pulled in a corner of her lip and crossed her arms. “Are you planning on wearing any of those, ever again?” she asked dryly.  
  
Bubbles blinked, jaw dropping in offense. “Oh, nooo, I couldn't possibly re-wear something from a big night like—”  
  
“So is it okay if I donate them to The Princess Project?”  
  
“Oh, sure—let me just get them dry-cleaned... ”  
  
Blossom waved it off, heading for their room. “I'll take care of it. I can drop them off on the way to school tomorrow.”  
  
“Dinner in five,” Buttercup declared.  
  
Bubbles clapped her hands and flew to the kitchen, hovering over Buttercup's shoulder. “What's dessert?! What's dessert?!”  
  
“I said, 'dinner,' not, 'dessert,'” Buttercup grumbled, shaking her off. After a moment's consideration, she said, “Chocolate mousse.”  
  
“So much happiness!” Bubbles exploded.  
  
“Bubbles!” Blossom's voice cried out from their room. “Which one of these is for this year's Prom?”  
  
“I haven't bought it yet!” Bubbles called back.  
  
“What?! Are you kidding me?! You've got, like six formal dresses in here!”  
  
“Don't take the blue one!” Bubbles gasped.  
  
“You gotta scream from the kitchen?” Buttercup griped, wincing. “Can't you run up there yourself?”  
  
“Three of these dresses are blue! Which one?!”  
  
“The periwinkle blue one!” Bubbles yelled, ignoring Buttercup's request. The dark-haired girl groaned in disgust.  
  
There was a pause. “I can't tell the difference!” Blossom finally shouted.  
  
“The sheath dress!”  
  
“ _What on Earth is a 'sheath dress_?!'”  
  
Bubbles sighed. “Just save the one with the super-skinny straps!”  
  
“ _Will you just go up there and tell her_?!” Buttercup snapped as she set the table. “My eardrums have ruptured five times over since you came in here!”  
  
“Got it!” Blossom declared triumphantly. “Wait a second... what about this green one?”  
  
“'Green one?'” Bubbles furrowed her brow. “I don't have a green one!”  
  
“It was stuffed here on the shelf—”  
  
A sudden, earsplitting clanking of silverware exploded, and Bubbles turned to see Buttercup cursing under her breath as she picked up what looked like their entire silverware collection off the floor.  
  
“Buttercup, you need some help?”  
  
“I got it,” the girl grumbled, not meeting Bubbles' eyes.  
  
“Bubbles?!”  
  
“What is with all the yelling?” The Professor suddenly appeared in the living room, annoyed beyond all reason. “You girls have been screaming your heads off ever since you got home! What on Earth is going on?!”  
  
A streak of pink flew into the kitchen, and Blossom held out a green satin dress with a white bow adorning the waist. “This one.”  
  
Bubbles frowned and shook her head. “That's not mine.”  
  
“What do you mean? It's definitely not one of mine.”  
  
“I don't wear green,” Bubbles explained.  
  
Blossom cocked an arm on her hip. “You wear every color under the sun.”  
  
“No, green doesn't look good on me,” Bubbles protested, then turned to Buttercup, who was finishing up the table. “Buttercup, is that dress yours—”  
  
“Of course it isn't,” the girl snapped abruptly, violently scootching her chair in. “Dinner's ready.”  
  
“Blossom, put the dress away and let's eat,” the Professor ordered, taking his place at the table.  
  
“So you're saying I can give this away?” Blossom asked Bubbles, who drew closer to inspect it.  
  
“I told you, it's not—”  
  
Bubbles suddenly paused, her eyes widening. She'd seen this dress, once before, when their sister had come home in an angry flash of green, and after she'd thrown her tantrum Bubbles had picked up Mitch's jacket and stuffed it into a far corner of the closet to deal with later...  
  
The dress had surprised her, but considering Buttercup's state at the time she wouldn't have dared ask about it. She'd shoved the rest of Buttercup's clothes against it, out of sight and out of mind.  
  
She glanced at Buttercup now, who was pushing her food around her plate with her fork, her eyes on the dress in Blossom's hands.  
  
“Oh my gosh, it _is_ one of mine,” Bubbles said, feigning a gasp. “I totally forgot!” She forced a giggle, stroking the white ribbon as she continued, “I thought it looked so nice at the time, and thought, Hey, maybe I could pull off green after all—”  
  
Blossom sighed, rolling her eyes, and tossed the dress onto the couch. “Honestly, Bubbles,” she chided as they both took their places at the dinner table. “You're such an impulsive shopper. That dress still has the tags on it and everything! You know, this is why programs like The Princess Project exist...”  
  
The rest of the table tuned Blossom out as she embarked upon another lecture about consumerism and wastefulness that lasted the entire meal. Bubbles glanced at Buttercup several times, whose eyes were always either burning holes into her plate or the dress that was on the couch.  
  
As always, dinner was well-received, and dessert even more so. Bubbles lingered at the table, relishing her serving of chocolate mousse after everyone else had finished and left, the Professor returning to the lab while Blossom returned to their room, green dress in tow. Buttercup was packing up the dishwasher, her back to Bubbles.  
  
Bubbles hummed cheerily as she finished her dessert, despondency settling over her features as she took the last bite.  
  
Suddenly another bowl was placed before her with a clatter, and Bubbles stared at the second serving in surprise. Without so much as a glance, Buttercup took the empty bowl out of her hands, walking it over to the dishwasher.  
  
Bubbles darted a look at her sister, waiting for her to say something. But Buttercup wasn't big on verbal communication, particularly when it came to things that upset her.  
  
She watched her sister fidget with the dishes, arranging them as best she could on the rack. Bubbles plunked her spoon into her bowl and floated to Buttercup, throwing her arms around her neck.  
  
“You're welcome,” she chirped, giggling, and obviously Buttercup was grateful, otherwise she would've flung Bubbles off the instant she'd embraced her.  
  
“Mmph.” Buttercup let Bubbles bounce them up and down a few times before shrugging her off.  
  
Bubbles beamed at her a second longer, then zipped back to her seat, squealing joyfully as she dug into her second bowl of chocolate mousse.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick stared at the suit encased in plastic on his bed, biting his fist. He raised the note in his other hand, glancing at Penny's loopy cursive.  
  
 _Something for Prom. Don't you have a girlfriend yet?  
~Penny_  
  
It had arrived yesterday with two others; Boomer had tried his on immediately while Butch had left his to wrinkle on the living room couch. Penny had good taste—Boomer's came in white with a blue vest and tie; Butch's was black with a faint pinstripe pattern and green shirt, and a “Tie optional (But honestly, Butch, wear the tie)” note pinned to the sleek black necktie.  
  
Brick's, on the other hand, was completely black, save for the bright splash of red that was the necktie cutting down the chest and disappearing behind the black vest. He didn't need to try it on to see how it looked—he liked it; the style was right up his alley, slick and clean. He'd wear it well.  
  
But wearing it, of course... that brought a whole other issue to mind.  
  
 _Something for Prom_ , Penny had written. Except the suit wasn't the something he needed, now. And it wouldn't have been an issue if his stupid brain hadn't immediately started ransacking itself for the perfect walking, talking accessory, someone who was pretty and graceful and would light up the room with her brilliance the moment she set foot in that room with her arm firmly linked in his. Someone to make him look good—no, he already looked good. Someone to make him look better.  
  
And because his brain was a treacherous, treacherous machine, the first girl it summoned to Brick's memory was the one who shouldn't even have been on the list at all.  
  
Yesterday he had flung the image away viciously, instantly. _Very funny, brain_ , he'd thought to himself. This morning Cindy had caught him in the hall, instigated conversation, and suddenly the other one, the one that shouldn't have been there, had crept into his mind.  
  
Except he didn't want that. He knew for a _fact_ he did not want that. Cindy would do. Cindy was good enough.  
  
He banished his suit to the closet for safekeeping until the big night.  
  
.~.  
  
“Don't even joke, dude.”  
  
Butch tipped his head back and laughed. “I'm not joking.”  
  
Buttercup was busy trying to balance her open soda can on one edge without spilling any liquid, unconcerned as the rest of the boys interrogated Butch.  
  
“You're missing out on the greatest night in history!” Harry cried. “Have you _heard_ The Fosters play before?”  
  
“Cheesy kung-fu movie!”  
  
“Old school gaming!”  
  
“All of which are trumped by the promise of Hot Tail,” Butch said sagely. “You guys have seen the girl, she's a fucking vision.” He turned to Buttercup. “Buttercup, you've seen her. Is she a fucking vision or what?”  
  
“She's a fucking vision,” Buttercup said disinterestedly, still working on her balancing act.  
  
“Thank you. So sorry, but you guys will just have to learn to live without me for one night.”  
  
“Somehow, I suspect we'll manage,” Harry muttered. “Your loss.”  
  
“What's her name?” Buttercup suddenly said, her eyes flicking from her angled can to Butch.  
  
He paused, thinking. “... Huh.”  
  
She snorted and went back to her can. “Boys.”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick strode through the double doors, a quiet sigh of relief expelling itself from his lungs. Every Friday meant he was one week closer to home.  
  
His pace slowed as the crowd of students parted, revealing Mrs. Morbucks at the curb, standing by her limo. She smiled. “Hello, Brick. Do you have a moment?”  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom gathered up her books and shut her locker. On Fridays the school cleared out fast, and the emptier-than-usual hallways were a luxury for her. She wandered from wall to wall on her way to the studio, scanning the bulletin boards and catching up on school news and announcements.  
  
Part of a large, butcher paper banner promoting Prom was hanging off the wall and dragging on the floor—several shoeprints decorated that edge. Blossom automatically pulled the corner up and pressed the tape into the wall, trying to get it to stick. As she smoothed out the blue tape, she glanced at the date. Three Saturdays away.  
  
She stepped back, the _clack_ of her shoes echoing in the hall. After a moment more of consideration, she headed back the way she'd come. Student Council meetings were held in Mrs. Yang's classroom; she'd wanted to run last year but what with the crimefighting and her dancing and other responsibilities it hadn't been feasible—  
  
She peeked in the small window. The meeting hadn't started yet; only three StuCo members were milling about, chatting with each other. Kris was among them.  
  
She was about to knock when a girl came up from behind her, said, “Excuse me,” and swung the door open. Everyone looked up to greet the newcomer, pausing when they caught sight of Blossom in the doorway.  
  
“Oh... hi,” she said, forcing a nervous laugh as she met each of their confused faces in turn.  
  
“Blossom?” Mrs. Yang asked. “Did you forget something?”  
  
“No, no, Mrs. Yang, I was...” She darted a look at Kris. “I just... I was just wondering if I could talk to Kris for a minute.”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick blinked and looked around, furrowing his brow. The hotel café Mrs. Morbucks had had the driver take them to was hardly exhibiting anything out of the ordinary, nor was its clientèle. He wondered where the funny feeling was coming from.  
  
“Is everything okay, Brick?” He looked back at Mrs. Morbucks.  
  
“Fine,” he said, brushing it off.  
  
“How's your Americano?” she asked, indicating his drink.  
  
“Refreshing,” he said, taking a perfunctory sip.  
  
“I heard about the Coil.” A little pang shot through him.  
  
“Yes,” he said slowly, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he stared at the lip of his cup.  
  
“That's unfortunate.”  
  
There was the tiniest of chips on the gold rimmed porcelain, only visible if you were really, really looking. “I suppose that's one way of putting it.”  
  
“I wish I could offer you another.”  
  
He took another sip and shrugged. “I don't know that I'd be interested, now.” He looked at her. “Is that what this meeting's about?”  
  
Mrs. Morbucks took her time before responding. She set aside her coffee—only half-finished—and started to reapply her lipstick, examining herself in her compact. Brick held his tongue, glancing around the café again, his impatience indicated only by his severely bouncing knee.  
  
Finally she returned her makeup to her purse, blotted her lips on a napkin, and looked Brick in the eye. “I have a request of you.”  
  
“So this is about a job,” he said quietly. The woman startled him by laughing and shaking her head.  
  
“Oh, no no no. I'm collecting on your debt to me, my boy.”  
  
Brick blinked, his jaw dropping very slightly. “Excuse me?”  
  
“Reccardi,” she said, as if it were obvious. “You owe me for Reccardi, don't you?”  
  
“I—no, I'm sorry, that was the point of me agreeing to perform—”  
  
“Begging your pardon, but I'm afraid the Coil was your payment for the performance.” She smiled knowingly at him. “You still owe me for Reccardi.”  
  
He stared at her. “I was under the impression it was a favor.”  
  
“An honest mistake,” she said, shrugging.  
  
“I didn't—I was the one who spoke with him, I got him to agree—”  
  
“None of which could've been accomplished without an arranged meeting via a certain third party,” she said deliberately, still smiling. “You needed a meeting, Brick. I got you a meeting.”  
  
Brick clenched his jaw to keep it from dropping again. “I put together the performance—”  
  
“And I suggested it,” Mrs. Morbucks interjected. “I set it up. I told you he was coming. I gave you a chance to prepare. And, when tragedy struck not twenty minutes before you had to go on, I convinced the most capable girl to assist you. And don't try and argue that you didn't need my help there, because do you honestly think she would've said, 'Yes,” without me to persuade her? Please take into consideration that this assumes you would've overcome your own personal issues with asking her yourself.”  
  
His jaw did drop, very, very slightly. Words were struggling to form on his lips—she was right, of course she was right, but he wasn't a pushover. He wasn't put on this Earth to do anyone's bidding except his own.  
  
“What if I don't feel I owe you anything?” he finally said, the casual tone of his voice barely masking the stony edge in it.  
  
She picked up on it. Mrs. Morbucks smirked, and leaned across the table.  
  
“Trust me, Brick.” Had he been twenty years older, he might've managed his last line as well as Mrs. Morbucks did now. That hard edge wasn't discernible by ear. It was the unsettling feeling that burrowed into his bones at the sound of her deceptively languorous voice, that underlying threat that gripped at him, made itself known via a sense that had nothing to do with perceiving sound.  
  
“Trust me,” she repeated. “You owe me.”

.~.

“ _Bubbles_!” Blossom clawed frantically through the closet, her shrill cry stirring both siblings from sleep.  
  
“Ugh, for crying out loud, Blossom,” Buttercup groaned. “It's Saturday, would you let us sleep—”  
  
“ _Where is my dress_?!” Blossom cried, dashing to Bubbles' bedside to shake the girl awake. “What have you done with it?!”  
  
A bleary Bubbles blinked at her sister, then fumbled for her alarm clock, squinting at the time. “... Mall opens in two hours,” she yawned, pulling away from Blossom to curl back into bed. “Wake me up then and we can go shopping for a new one.”  
  
“A new— _what did you do with the old one_?!”  
  
“Princess Project,” Bubbles muttered.  
  
“Oh my _God_ , you guys, let me _sleep_ ,” Buttercup complained, kicking her feet against her mattress for emphasis.  
  
Blossom stared at Bubbles as she rapidly descended back into sleep. It was kind of pointless to argue now. She sighed and left the room, grabbing two hours' worth of homework on the way to kill the time.  
  
.~.  
  
An excited Bubbles burst through the front door nearly eight hours later. “Professor! Buttercup! Come see, come see! Blossom, go put it on—”  
  
“I am so tired,” Blossom groused, glaring at her sister. “I just put in a full workday as your walking, talking mannequin, being dragged and jostled and dressed and undressed over and over again, and you want me to go—”  
  
Bubbles rolled her eyes and grabbed her sister's arm, and two streaks of color disappeared into the downstairs bathroom, the pink one protesting vehemently all the way. In the meantime, the Professor and Buttercup warily drew into the living room.  
  
Soon enough, Bubbles threw open the door with a flourish, beaming.  
  
“Ta-da!”  
  
After a moment passed where absolutely nothing happened, Bubbles reached into the bathroom and yanked out a sullen Blossom. A sullen, very pretty Blossom.  
  
Buttercup gave a low whistle, then politely _Oooh_ ed. A little line formed between the Professor's eyebrows; he looked terribly conflicted.  
  
“It took us _forever_ ,” Bubbles explained as she started turning Blossom around to show all the angles of the dress. “She didn't like _anything_ I picked out, and there were so many cute things she tried on—so many cute things she _didn't_ try on, too, for that matter—”  
  
The floor-length white, billowy skirt—she was going to need some serious heels to keep this thing from dragging—hung straight down, but suddenly flared out around her as Bubbles spun her.  
  
“We finally found this one, obviously towards the end of the day, and I knew Blossom kinda sorta liked it because she didn't say anything at first when I showed it to her, and then we threw it on and BOOM. The perfect dress!” Bubbles looked smug, indicating the modest shell top of the dress. “And it's not all revealing, so it's totally Blossom's style—”  
  
“None of you girls should have 'revealing styles,'” the Professor suddenly interjected, his face hardening.  
  
Undeterred, Bubbles laughed and said, “Oh, Professor, you know what I mean—”  
  
“It _is_ kinda your thing,” Buttercup said in an undertone to Blossom as she edged closer, tilting her head at the dress. “Long, sophisticated, no exposed cleavage—”  
  
“ _Excuse you_ ,” Blossom hissed through gritted teeth, jerking her head in the Professor's direction.  
  
“She'll look soooo gorgeous dancing,” Bubbles said excitedly, grabbing Blossom by the arm and twirling her again. The layers of the skirt opened with a flourish around her, like a flower blooming in rapid motion.  
  
“Don't do too much of that,” the Professor said a little desperately—she'd just exposed a lot of calf.  
  
“Oh, don't you think she looks so pretty and elegant, Professor?” Bubbles pleaded, eyes moist and lower lip stuck out. Blossom swallowed and unintentionally gave their father a rather childish look herself.  
  
He melted. “Oh, honey, of _course_ you do.”  
  
“White's a good color on you,” Buttercup added, nodding thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and turned, heading for the kitchen. “But it's still a dress.”  
  
.~.  
  
Some of the fervor around the musical was fading due to the proximity of Prom, leaving a lot of students fairly distracted. Bubbles was distracted for an entirely different reason.  
  
Blossom hung back a bit as her blonde sister bounded down the hall, humming all the while.  
  
“What are you so chipper about?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Bubbles tittered. “Just all the excitement going on this week! Prepping for Prom, final auditions for the musical...” There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye as she turned to her sister and said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “One-year anniversary...”  
  
“A year?” Blossom blinked. “It's been a year already?”  
  
“One year Thursday,” Bubbles chirped, giggling again. The promise of celebrating a year-long relationship was a sort of milestone for Bubbles; this was her first one-year anniversary, ever. Sure, they'd had disagreements, but what couple didn't?  
  
“Blossom!” The girls looked up to see Mrs. Olson approaching. “Could you join me in my office? Nothing serious, I just want a word.”  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom gathered up her things rapidly as soon as the final bell rang. She avoided looking in a certain boy's direction—she had been all day, in fact, which wasn't easy considering he was in most of her classes and usually in her direct line of sight. There was nothing to discuss, anyway, and certainly nothing to talk about. Had he been a friend, or at least a decent person, she might've mentioned something in passing. But this was Brick. And it was going to stay strictly professional.  
  
Her quick navigating of the crowds found her in the locker room in record time, and she changed into her leotard and dance pants. Neither Jim nor Faust would be here today, so it was just the two of them...  
  
She glanced at Mrs. Olson's office—at least she'd be around. A couple of the girls waved at her as they left—they were going to go practice the group pieces in the atrium. It was a big space and a pretty day, and the skylight that adorned the atrium would be lighting it up something beautiful.  
  
Blossom gave herself a once over in the mirror. After a second's consideration, she reached into her locker and grabbed a t-shirt to pull over her leotard. She strolled into the studio then (after fixing her hair a bit, not that that was significant or anything, she just liked looking presentable) just as Brick entered via the outside door.  
  
They met each other's eyes for the first time that day. Blossom looked away and started stretching in silence.  
  
He snorted, drawing her attention. “What's the point of stretching? Your muscles are superhuman. They don't need to warm up or cool down.”  
  
“Meditative purposes,” she muttered, continuing her warm-up routine.  
  
“Ah! There you two are!” Mrs. Olson emerged from her office, all smiles. “Brick, let me take a moment to say, 'Thank you,' for agreeing to participate.”  
  
“What choice did I have?” Brick said. Blossom shot him a suspicious look.  
  
“Mrs. Morbucks told you about the plan, right? Her official sponsoring of the Townsville High Fine Arts program, the celebratory performance she wants to put on—”  
  
“She's filled me in,” he affirmed.  
  
“We'll also be going to the Middle School, to recruit incoming students for the Fine Arts program,” Mrs. Olson continued.  
  
“As Mrs. Morbucks said, there's no reason to pour money into the program unless kids are interested in having one,” Brick said with a shrug. Mrs. Olson smiled.  
  
“We appreciate the help, Brick. Jim will be here Wednesday to start you both on your ballroom routine for the Middle School, and tomorrow Faust—you haven't met her, have you? Oh, she's incredible. She's choreographing the big group piece for the Middle School as well as your hip hop piece with Blossom.”  
  
“So if neither of them are here, what are we working on today?” Brick asked.  
  
Mrs. Olson clapped a hand on Blossom's shoulder. “Blossom's going to walk you through the group piece. You and she will have a solo part—I'm sorry, I guess that's a duet—throughout it, but at least you'll know what the two of you will be working with when Faust comes in tomorrow.” The woman grinned. “Thanks again, you two. I'll be with the girls in the atrium if you need anything.”  
  
.~.  
  
Kim and Mary opened their mouths in excited, silent screams as Bubbles finished her first song and made her way back to her seat. They clutched at her arms as she sat, hissing variations on, “You sang so well, holy crap I can't _believe_ how good that was, you're so going to get this part—”  
  
“I've still got two more to do,” Bubbles muttered back, shushing them as the next girl got her song assignment from Dr. Wendell and took her place at the center of the room. Bubbles furtively looked around as the girl began to sing, scanning the room for a familiar head of blonde hair...  
  
She'd heard Mitch and the twins mention something about band practice today in the cafeteria. That was probably what he was up to. The boys weren't doing their versatility auditions until tomorrow, so he didn't have a reason to be here.  
  
She just thought it would've been nice to see him. He seemed to really appreciate music. After all, he not only performed in a band, but he knew how to play the piano and seemed to like musicals, too, even if it appeared his only reason for auditioning was to impress her. In fact, she wasn't sure the boys' versatility auditions were even necessary. It was obvious Boomer could outsing both the other candidates for the lead. The boy she was in Honors Choir with had a beautiful voice, but it wasn't as powerful as Boomer's. The boy from Theater sang well, too, but she suspected his lack of vocal training would hurt him in the auditions.  
  
The girl finished her audition, and the next took her place. Bubbles thought about what she would do if she got the part. There was one kiss in the entire musical, and it was between the zombie and his living ex. Granted, it was followed by some dialogue along the lines of, “Oh wait, I just kissed a dead person, and it was actually kind of gross,” but a kiss was a kiss, and she couldn't help but feel nervous when she thought about it. It didn't matter that it was (or was probably going to be) Boomer; she'd feel nervous about kissing anyone that wasn't Will. Of course, it was just a show, but...  
  
 _I'm acting like I've already got the part_ , she realized, shaking her head clear. First things first. They wouldn't find out who had which part until Friday. Then she'd know whether she needed to cross the kissing bridge.  
  
.~.  
  
“Didn’t expect to see you back here,” Blossom said, trying to keep her tone casual as she continued to stretch. “Did Mrs. Morbucks... offer you another car?”  
  
His eyes darkened. “No,” he replied acidly. “And after what happened last week, I'm not sure I want one in this city.”  
  
She paused in her single straight leg stretch, looking past her calf as the memory of that day played out in her head. With a sigh, she lowered her leg and flopped back against the floor. “I guess I can’t blame you for getting upset.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll find plenty other things to blame on me.”  
  
She lifted her head enough to issue him a sour look. “I wasn’t trying to be nasty.”  
  
He shrugged. “Neither was I.”  
  
Blossom propped herself up on her elbows. Did he really feel the need to be so defensive? Was he aware of how it looked, him and his brothers returning after years of—  
  
 _Oh come on, Blossom_ , a voice in her head went off. _Let it go already. It’s not exactly like he’s been running wild in the streets since his return_.  
  
 _But that's not the point_! she thought back. _He's sneaky, he's manipulative, and obviously smart enough to be hiding something. He just suddenly reappeared, with some mysterious rich guy's name attached to him—benefactor, my foot_ —  
  
 _Name one crime he's committed in all this time he's been back_ , that horrible little voice of dissent said.  
  
She blinked, her gaze drifting to the opposite end of the studio. A little twinge of guilt stung her. Brick _hadn’t_ engaged in any criminal activity, she grudgingly admitted. If she stepped back and tried to look at it objectively, he really hadn’t acted unlike any other teenage boy would (despite being more insufferable than most others). Granted, he’d lost his temper—Blossom inwardly shuddered as she recalled the sight of him assaulting Butch—but at the same time, his brother _was_ a bit like a version of Buttercup with no boundaries, morals, or common sense. And if he’d indeed disobeyed an order, like Brick had said…  
  
Blossom’s method of discipline involved lecturing Buttercup in a very stern voice. Butch didn’t seem like the type who would… respond well to that. Hadn't she demonstrated that herself, when she'd gotten after him for being irresponsible and lewd? Butch's behavior hadn't been affected until she'd gotten physical. In his own way, Brick did what had to be done.  
  
But then again, what if Boomer hadn’t shown up? What if Brick had really lost it, really…?  
  
 _No. Brick wouldn’t…_ kill _his own brother_.  
  
She exhaled and laid back, immediately pushing up into a bridge.  
  
 _See_? That stupid little voice of dissent sounded smug. Blossom made a face.  
  
 _Whatever. Lack of criminal activity is not exactly proof of innocence.  
  
He helped destroy the monster...  
  
Only after it had destroyed his car; he didn't do it out of the 'goodness' of his heart, he was approaching it from a purely materialistic standpoint—  
  
Oh, please. Like you've never lost your temper over_ your _things being destroyed_.  
  
The stupid voice had a point. She kicked up into a handstand, her eyes narrowing at the memory of Bubbles and the incident with that gorgeous toggle coat… Blossom hadn’t even worn it twice; she _knew_ she shouldn’t have gotten it in white…  
  
She glanced at Brick upside down, surprised to see him on the floor doing wide push-ups. “I thought this whole warming up business was a waste of time to you.”  
  
“It still is,” he said as easily as if he were standing still. “But it’s keeping my mind off my dead Coil.” He frowned at her. “Since you had to go and bring it up.” He rotated away from her on one side and pushed up into a side plank.  
  
She ignored the dig and began to do push-ups of her own, still in her handstand.  
  
“What's Mrs. Olson up to, anyway? I never see her choreograph anything.”  
  
Blossom folded her legs over in front and wrapped her arms around her calves before answering. “She's working with the Company on our competition piece. There's a big dance competition in May that we all have to prep for, so she takes care of that while me and the officers work on stuff like the musical and helping with the Dance classes.”  
  
“So why are you bringing in Jim and this Faust chick?”  
  
Blossom gave Brick a sharp look. “She is a _woman_ , not a 'chick.'”  
  
Brick rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Gertrude Stein.”  
  
“Cindy and I have worked with Jim on ballroom,” Blossom huffed. “Faust works downtown at the community center teaching hip hop; she's the reason I'm as good as I am. Usually we don't recruit them for this, but Mrs. Morbucks insisted on bringing them in to work with us. We're busy enough with both the competition and musical in May.”  
  
“That, or she doesn't like your choreography and thinks it could use a professional touch,” Brick said flatly, and Blossom glared at him as she stalked over to the stereo.  
  
“You ready to practice, then?” she grumbled, not bothering to mask her irritation.  
  
“How many weeks have we got?” he asked.  
  
“Three for all three,” she responded, skipping to their track. After a moment, she said in a more subdued voice, “They’re on the Friday before Prom.”  
  
“Ugh,” he groaned, shaking out his arms. “That’s a lot of work and not a lot of prep time.”  
  
“You could always back out if you don’t think you’ll have it perfect by then,” Blossom said, shrugging, and she sensed Brick icing over behind her. She gripped the stereo remote in her hand and turned, walking back over. “I mean, they _are_ three fairly complicated routines—”  
  
“Shut up and run me through them,” he said sharply.  
  
She pulled in her bottom lip and matched his glare, jabbing the ‘Play’ button on the remote. “Just so long as you know what you’re getting into,” she said in an even voice as the music started.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles was right about Boomer; on Tuesday he outsang the other two by miles. He so had this.  
  
Bubbles knew because she'd been there. She'd considered not going, but the thing was she liked watching people sing, particularly when they were good, and all three of the boys were good. Boomer just happened to be better than the other two.  
  
He had grinned when he saw her, and she'd managed a friendly smile back, mouthing, “Good luck,” before he'd started. Right after he'd finished, she'd stealthily slunk away. If she hung around she'd start giving him (and other people) the wrong impression, and she had a boyfriend, and besides, she wasn't interested anyway.  
  
Wednesday rolled around, and by Art—her last class—Bubbles was trying to quell the Anticipation Butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. She tried to focus on her canvas, but she was too distracted to drum up a creative bone in her body. She sighed in defeat and decided to go for a walk around the room.  
  
There were several people already sketching faintly on their canvases, and she commented on the more interesting ones. Brick's was still blank; he was at the table, sketching out roughs on paper instead.  
  
She peered over his shoulder. He glanced back at her, but didn't scowl or push her away. She took that as an encouraging sign.  
  
“Those look nice.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said perfunctorily, finishing one and studying it.  
  
“Trying to decide what to paint?”  
  
“Well done, Sherlock.”  
  
Bubbles rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the table. After a second, she reached out a hand to sift through the papers. Brick didn't stop her.  
  
“You've done like, thirty sketches.”  
  
“I like having options,” he said.  
  
“It's a use of color exercise. You probably don't need to worry about the content of the painting.”  
  
“I'm comfortable with color. So I'm worrying about content and how I can use that to do something different with color.”  
  
Bubbles blinked. She wasn't sure she understood him. “Oh... okay.” She looked at his sketches again. “You must have done a zillion of these before the charity show.”  
  
“None of which I wound up using,” he replied, and Bubbles zeroed in on that statement, because he'd just let something slip.  
  
She sat down next to him. “She _is_ pretty inspiring, isn't she?”  
  
The piece of paper he had in his hands crumpled into a little ball. That patented Brick Glare turned itself on her.  
  
“That painting you did was absolutely gorgeous,” she said simply, unfazed. She was used to that look by now. “Your sketches out in the hall, too! I never told you.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder, stunning him. “You know, we could probably convince Miss Maybury to let us go to the Dance class again, or you and I could just go in in the morning when Blossom's practicing—”  
  
Brick's eyes were on the hand that had just violated his personal space, his expression growing stonier by the second. He gave her a hard look, grabbed her wrist, and lifted it away.  
  
“Do not talk to me,” he said, his voice low. “Get up, and go back to your canvas, and don't fucking bother me _ever again_.”  
  
He let go of her wrist and continued to glare at her. After a moment of staring, she blew her hair out of her face and stood.  
  
“Fine,” she said loftily. “You are both such Drama Queens, I swear.”  
  
“What?” he snapped.  
  
“I'm taking this one,” Bubbles announced, snatching up one of his sketches. “I like it.”  
  
She lifted her chin and walked back to her canvas with a little huff. Brick just stared.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles' first two duet auditions went okay, but she was pretty sure with four other girls competing for the part, she didn't have much of a chance at this point. Her voice didn't blend well with the boys she'd sung with, and while she still had to sing with Boomer, she was trying to prep herself for rejection early on. Then it wouldn't sting so much later.  
  
With that in mind, she decided to forgo more practicing and instead sat in for Boomer's third duet. He looked so comfortable up there; he didn't even glance at his music before launching into song. Kim was right. He was really putting his voice to work, but even so, he didn't sound tired in the least. The girl he was singing with started off a little intimidated, but Boomer's energy was infectious, and by the end of their audition she was almost as animated as he was and barely looking at her music.  
  
“It's kinda been working out that way all day, when they sing with him,” Kim whispered.  
  
“I guess he just has that effect on people,” Bubbles whispered back.  
  
“Bubbles!” Dr. Wendell called. “You and Boomer. You're up.”  
  
Boomer's face took on this happy glow as Bubbles floated over, music in hand.  
  
“I've been looking forward to this,” he said cheerfully.  
  
“Coming from someone who sings like you, I'm... very flattered.” She smiled, studying her music in an effort to avoid meeting his eyes. She was suddenly ridiculously nervous, and looking at him when he looked at her like _that_ wouldn't do her nerves or Anticipation Butterflies any favors.  
  
“Oh, come on. You've been looking forward to this a little bit,” he wheedled. “Just a bit. Maybe? Possibly? Somewhere deep down inside that six sizes too big heart of yours?”  
  
She laughed, one of her hands falling to her very normal-sized heart and feeling its rapid fire beat drumming against her ribs.  
  
“Whatever you say,” she said softly, the butterflies fluttering as she avoided his playful eyes.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom shook her head before opening the front door. Practice with Jim had been a little nerve-wracking. It wasn't the dance. Well, not really, anyway. It was just... dancing with Brick. Or holding positions with him, rather. Her hands kept going all clammy in his, and his body felt warm against hers, and she wondered what soap he used, or aftershave, or maybe it was his shampoo she was smelling...  
  
Of course it was all very unpleasant. He was still as insufferable as ever. Never mind that the thought sounded dull and empty now in her brain, that she remembered he was insufferable only after they'd been standing close for too long without barking at each other.  
  
Buttercup was rustling about in the kitchen, shouting, “Hey,” over her shoulder as Blossom waved and darted up the stairs.  
  
“Blossom?” Bubbles' voice called out to her before she even touched their door. Blossom pushed it open to find Bubbles hugging her knees to herself on her bed, staring out the window. “Can I talk to you?”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick frowned at Boomer as the blonde sifted through the stacks of DVDs that surrounded him.  
  
“What are you doing?” He picked one up and made a face. “A RomCom? Why are you—oh, no, you are shitting me. Are these _all_ RomComs?”  
  
“I'm doing research,” Boomer said, popping one of them into the player. “On how to get the girl.”  
  
Brick rolled his eyes and tossed the DVD in his hand back onto the pile. Boomer immediately grabbed it and studied the blurb on the back.  
  
“There's other fish in the sea, dude,” Brick muttered.  
  
“Why would I want fish when I could have filet mignon?” Boomer retorted. He paused and stared off into the distance. “I'm hungry. The real type of hungry, too, not the girl type of hungry.”  
  
Brick sighed and nudged some DVD cases out of the way with his foot as he made his way to his room.  
  
“Hey, Brick.”  
  
Brick paused and looked back at his brother, who was fast forwarding through the opening credits, his eyes glued to the screen but not really seeing what was on it.  
  
“Got a second?” he asked.  
  
“Shoot,” Brick said.  
  
“We auditioned today,” Boomer said, still staring at the TV. “Together, I mean. And... it was weird, man. Like... we were so on, you know. We sounded so right. We... knew where the other one was going. It was like we could read each other's minds, or sense it, or something. It was... “ He drifted off, fiddling with the remote in his hands. “I don't know. It was weird.”  
  
An unsettling sensation curled in Brick's stomach. “Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“I dunno,” Boomer shrugged, looking at the remote. “Just...” He glanced up, briefly meeting Brick's eyes. “I guess in case you knew something, or whatever. I mean, it was really weird. Like a runner's high, or something, except... she was there, too.”  
  
Brick stared at him, then nodded at the TV. “You fast forwarded all the way to the end of your movie.”  
  
“Oh, shit.” Boomer jabbed at the remote.  
  
“I don't know, man,” Brick said with a sigh, turning and heading for his room. “You're on your own on this one.”  
  
“Yeah,” Boomer said distractedly, and Brick shut his door. He let his hand linger on the doorknob, brow furrowed. What Boomer had described sounded eerily similar to what had happened when he'd danced with Blossom for their second performance at Mrs. Morbucks' charity event. He'd written it off as owing to their heightened physical abilities, their super senses, but Boomer had experienced it too, and that'd been singing, rather than a strictly physical activity....  
  
He wondered if something had come up with Butch and Buttercup, knowing that Butch wouldn't be perceptive enough to pick up on his emotions when dealing with not just Buttercup, but people in particular.  
  
Suddenly his eyes widened. _The fight_. Butch had picked up on it before either him or Boomer, subconsciously. Something in him had registered Buttercup, had singled her out, and because he was stupid and didn't think things through he'd just up and attacked her without thinking—really, truly thinking—about why he was compelled to do so.  
  
 _Why are we being drawn to each other_? Brick thought, then gave a violent twitch of his head. No. That was wrong. Butch might have befriended Buttercup, and Boomer might be all over Bubbles, but Brick was _not_ drawn to... to _her_. Never mind the drawings, the dancing. There were rational reasons behind those things, it was hardly evidence of subconscious desire or attraction—  
  
“Aaaagh,” Brick suddenly said, trying to vocally derail that train of thought. Those were bad words! He didn't mean to think them! It was just his brain going haywire on him, his thoughts getting the better of him, he had such a fast thinking brain anyway—  
  
It occurred to Brick that dwelling on this wasn't helping his rationalization argument. With a resolute huff, he stalked to his bathroom. A shower would clear his head. Hopefully. Maybe.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles was dwelling on things of her own. She flew to school in a daze, unable to push the memory of Boomer's awed expression as they finished their audition from her mind. She knew she had to stop this; thinking about it was the wrong thing to do. It meant there was interest, and she wasn't interested, couldn't be. She had a boyfriend. She had Will. Who wasn't a villain, or, well, former villain, and with whom she had been with for a year now—  
  
She nearly stopped mid-flight. Their anniversary! She'd almost forgotten! Almost instantly she brightened, and she kicked into high speed, eager to get to school to find out what he had planned. Anniversary celebrating would cure her of these thoughts, because anniversary celebrating had nothing to do with Boomer at all.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles sank to the floor, resting her back against the lockers as she stared at her knees. “I can't believe you forgot,” she said, numbly.  
  
“I didn't—no, babe, that's not it—”  
  
“You forgot,” she repeated, shaking her head.  
  
Will fumbled for an excuse. “I've just, I've been distracted, with all this college prepping, I mean, I'm graduating next _month_ , Bubbles—”  
  
“Then this should be even more important to you, shouldn't it?” She gave him a beseeching look. “Shouldn't we enjoy the time we have left together? Before you go off to college?” She knew she was being petty, she knew it wasn't fair and he _did_ have a lot to do, but on the other hand, she was his girlfriend, and it was their _one year anniversary_ —  
  
She stood and stalked into the nearest girls' bathroom, leaving him stumbling over an apology.  
  
.~.  
  
“Ugh, my face is a mess,” Bubbles said to herself, sniffling as she examined her reflection. Her voice echoed in the empty bathroom, and the way it bounced off the tile was oddly comforting.  
  
She was missing her first class. She didn't want to go in there, not now, especially when she looked like this. But she couldn't stay in here forever, and Blossom would find out soon enough and get on her case—  
  
She scrubbed at her face, fixed it up just enough, and squared her shoulders. After a moment of trying to empower herself, the way Blossom did in the mirror before speeches and performances and the like, she made her way to the door.  
  
She halted as she stepped out, shocked to find Will standing next to her, a rueful look on his face.  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
 _He's missing his first class, too_. It felt like a sweet gesture, romantic. But he wasn't getting her that easily. She stared at him a moment, then made a noncommittal grunt of acceptance.  
  
“But I'm making it up to you.” His arms wove around her shoulders and she let him pull her close, whisper into her hair. “I'm taking you out to dinner. A nice one.”  
  
“Where at?” she muttered, but her curiosity was piqued and it felt good to be embraced, to be held—  
  
“Downtown. 360 Degrees.”  
  
Her eyes widened. _Oh my God, that place is expensive! Where did he get the kind of money_?!  
  
“I made a reservation.”  
  
She pulled away to gape at him properly. “When?”  
  
“When I realized I'd made probably the dumbest mistake of my life by forgetting our anniversary.”  
  
Bubbles stared at him, the cogs slowly turning as she registered it all. She couldn't believe it. 360 Degrees was ridiculously expensive. And he'd initially forgotten, which meant he'd gone to the trouble of making an almost-last-minute reservation in the time she'd been in the restroom. For her. All that effort... for her.  
  
“I'm sorry, baby,” Will said quietly. If a guy had to apologize for forgetting an anniversary, this was the way to do it.  
  
She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “Me too,” she whispered.  
  
.~.  
  
Boomer ditched band practice early to change and get to the restaurant ahead of them. He arrived an hour before the reservation was set just to be safe, scanning the restaurant and relieved to find they hadn't yet arrived.  
  
With a wide grin on his face, he strode up to the circular bar in the center of the room, glancing at the empty table with a little _Reserved_ sign perched in the middle. The side of the bar with the TV wasn't viewable from there. Perfect.  
  
The bartender was giving him a suspicious look; Boomer was pretty obviously underage. Whatever. He wasn't here for drinks, anyway. He pointed at the TV screen.  
  
“Hey, man,” he said brightly. “Mind switching it to the game?”  
  
.~.  
  
“Oh my God, the view is so gorgeous,” Bubbles breathed. Will gave her an amused look.  
  
“You kinda have this view all the time, don't you?” he laughed as their host led them to their table.  
  
Bubbles rolled her eyes. “I'm not up in the air _all_ the time, silly.”  
  
Will started to say something, but as they passed the bar his eyes flickered to the television and he paused.  
  
Bubbles noticed, and she followed his gaze. “Oh! There's a basketball game on tonight? I didn't realize.”  
  
“We're like a week away from the playoffs,” Will murmured, a little distracted. Bubbles hung back, noticing the look in his eye.  
  
“Um... did you want to watch it for a bit?”  
  
He gave a brusque twitch of his head and directed his attention back to her. “No. This is a special occasion. I can get my folks to DVR it for me.”  
  
As they were seated he extracted his cell phone to text his parents, and Bubbles turned her eyes to the floor-to-ceiling length windows, a serene smile lighting her face as she gazed down upon Townsville, slowly revolving around them. She glanced at Will's reflection in the mirror, her smile widening. He was so handsome, she'd almost forgotten. Here they were, a year later, and—  
  
A familiar pair of blue eyes suddenly flashed in the glass, and her eyes widened in shock. She whipped her head around, fervently scanning the restaurant for that, that meddler, that intrusive and utterly confusing boy—  
  
Nothing. Was she crazy?  
  
There was pressure on her hand, and she looked down in surprise to see Will's hand on hers.  
  
“Is everything okay?” he asked.  
  
She stared at his hand clenching hers. She forced a smile and squeezed back.  
  
“Fine. Everything's fine.”  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles gave a happy sigh as their appetizer was cleared away and looked at the stage at one end of the room. There was a young woman playing piano and singing a soft, unintrusive song for the restaurant patrons. It was so romantic.  
  
“This was such a wonderful idea.”  
  
“I totally agree,” Will said in earnest. A sudden whoop of excitement went up, and Will's gaze flitted back to the bar.  
  
Bubbles pulled her eyes away from the piano player. She was feeling generous tonight. “Why don't you go check out the game for awhile?”  
  
“What? No, no, baby, that's—”  
  
“It's okay,” she assured him. “I'm fine. As long as you're back in time for the entrée.”  
  
After a prolonged, moist look at her, he stood up and kissed her forehead. “You are the best girlfriend ever.”  
  
“I know,” she giggled as he practically skipped to the bar. The woman at the piano finished her song, and Bubbles added her own clapping to the scattered applause. She cast her gaze around the restaurant and out the window again as the woman shuffled around the stage and said something into the mic—something about amateur night—  
  
“Hey,” a disturbingly familiar voice said, and she turned to see the stage, the smile already fading from her face.  
  
Boomer was at the piano, those bright blue eyes of his focused on Bubbles as he shot her a crooked grin. “ _You give your hand to me_...”  
  
.~.  
  
After their entrées had been cleared away, a very distracted Bubbles excused herself to the restroom. She walked stiffly over behind the bar, then, instead of heading for the restroom, made a beeline for the waiting area. Sure enough, Boomer was there.  
  
She stomped right up to him (not an easy feat in heels, but she managed) and glared, her shoulders tense with anger.  
  
He smiled at her. “Happy anniversary.”  
  
Bubbles was not in the mood to exchange pleasantries. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“I just, you know...” He hunched up his shoulders, the look on his face innocent. “I wanted to see how your anniversary was going. Did you like your present?”  
  
“'Present?' What—what are you talking about?”  
  
Boomer blinked, glancing at the restaurant. “Um, dinner.”  
  
Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him in disbelief. “What?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean, Will hadn't had anything planned, right? So I passed this on to him—”  
  
His voice faded to dim background noise as the turbulence in her head overwhelmed her senses. No. No, no, no, he was doing this on purpose, he was doing this to confuse her—  
  
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, determined to keep the quaver out of her voice. “We aren't any of your business! You're telling me you gave my boyfriend a dinner reservation—how did you get him to take that when he hates your guts?”  
  
“Slipped it in his locker. Anonymously.”  
  
“You're lying,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You're lying, you have to be lying.”  
  
He adopted a sheepish expression and said, “Actually, I'm... not. I just wanted you to have a happy anniversary, Bubbles.”  
  
She felt her resolve crumpling at his words, but held her ground. It was hard, because deep down, she knew believing Will had done this on his own was too good to be true. He wouldn't have thought to bring her here, they would've done something simpler. It wasn't him. This wasn't Will. This was...  
  
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered again.  
  
“Because I like you,” he said, without hesitation.  
  
The look on his face was too much; Bubbles turned away and buried her face in her hands. Will had lied. He was in so much trouble.  
  
“Aren't you having a good time?” Boomer asked. She felt him looming just over her shoulder, and she weakly batted him away.  
  
“I don't—no. I can't. I can't. My boyfriend forgot our anniversary, he lied about making a reservation on his own, and it's all turned out to be an evil plot of yours to steal me away.”  
  
Boomer studied her for a second. “Um... is it working?”  
  
“ _No it is not working_!” she hissed, angry at herself for those pangs of excitement that had started up the second he'd appeared onstage. “You shouldn't even bother. You shouldn't bother at all.”  
  
His face softened, and God, she wished he wouldn't look like that. “Why?”  
  
She stared at him a moment, then forced her gaze to the tile and covered her face again. She couldn't look at him. Not when her nerves were shot like this. Not when what she felt was, yes, disbelief and anger, but above all that, butterflies at the sight of him. Not when she kept recalling the smoothness of his voice as he'd sung ( _to her_ ), glancing at her askance as he'd played ( _for her_ ). She couldn't look at him. Absolutely not.  
  
“Could you please—just—just stop,” she whispered, trying to convince herself that the hurt in her chest as she said it was anything other than her heart breaking.  
  
She wasn't looking at him, but even so she could sense him moving closer, and when his hands gripped her by the arms and pulled her close she didn't stop him. She'd said _stop_ and yet she let this happen, because there was a part of her... just one, teensy, tiny part of her...  
  
It felt good to be held by him, to know that under his evil exterior there was a heart, solid and real, beating in his body. She could feel it, and she took her hands away from her face and turned the palms to his chest, almost mystified by the feel of it, perfectly in sync with her own—  
  
“If you start crying, you're gonna break it,” he said quietly, and how did he know? How did he know exactly what to say to make her feel like this?  
  
Her arms stiffened, and she braced them against his chest and shoved him away.  
  
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” she whispered, shaking her head. She had a boyfriend, he was a bad guy, this could not happen. It would never happen.  
  
She turned away, the restaurant blurring in her misty vision as she stumbled into the ladies' room.  
  
.~.  
  
Will's mouth was soft when he kissed her, his hands faintly callused from sun and sports. When he touched her, it felt like light sandpaper on her skin. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close as they kissed in the backseat of his car, parked in his driveway.  
  
She hadn't confronted him about lying. She hadn't told him about Boomer, either. What was the use? It had just ruined her night. No sense in ruining his, too.  
  
During dessert she had almost wished Boomer were still there. She got distracted, fantasizing about an angry Boomer stalking across the restaurant floor, shouting his head off at Will, and then there was a fight for her honor which she'd stop by dramatically telling him once again that she would never, ever, choose him—  
  
Obviously that hadn't happened. She wondered, then, if he'd left angry, or sad, or... what could he be besides angry or sad? What did he do when he got that way? Did he wander the streets, letting his emotions simmer? Did he bury himself in headphones and fight off his feelings with his guitar? Did he seek out a confidant, did he go whine at Brick? She hadn't dared look at his face when she'd fled from him. She'd known his expression would've shattered her resolve.  
  
Will was kissing her cheek, whispering sweet nothings into it.  
  
Bubbles paused, pulling back a bit to look at Will. His eyebrows were lifted, carrying a question, and his fingers brushed the side of her thigh, disturbing the fabric of her skirt that had bunched up. She was crestfallen to realize that his touch had lost its tingle, that he didn't look quite so handsome as he had even just an hour ago at the restaurant. Even his kisses fell flat, simply a mash of lips meeting rather than a heart-twisting experience.  
  
She pushed him away, feeling his fingertips dusting the side of her leg as she did. She readjusted her skirt.  
  
“I think I should go home,” she murmured.

.~.

Boomer went to school the next morning in a bit of a mood.  
  
He'd visually ingested dozens and dozens of romantic comedies to prep for last night. He thought he'd done everything perfectly. He thought he'd said all the right things. He'd played the martyr in the interest of making her happy; he'd even gotten to holding her, which _should've_ turned into kissing her, but she was so freaking stubborn...  
  
There was a line from one of the movies about the juice being worth the squeeze. After last night, he was having serious second thoughts. After all—and he'd stupidly let it slip his mind—he and his brothers would be going back to work in a couple of months.  
  
The school was teeming with students, and he let his instinct carry him through the halls, allowing his mind to wander. He'd had a girlfriend. For barely two weeks, granted, but a girlfriend. He was _popular_ , at least relatively so, and there were other girls who were interested. So why was he bothering with her? All this work for what, in the end, would only amount to maybe a date or two, assuming she caved?  
  
He pushed through a door, and the odd echo of his footsteps jarred him from his thoughts. He found himself in the choir hall, his superhearing picking up on a familiar voice resonating from one of the practice rooms.  
  
It still sounded like flowers blooming, like a shift in planetary revolutions when he heard her sing. That. That was why.  
  
They would find out the final casting today. Boomer stood still for a moment or two, listening as she sang and the world lazily spun in the opposite direction.  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup examined her apple at their mostly empty table. The rest of the boys hadn't gotten out of the lunch line yet, so she and Butch were the only two seated. Her eyes darted to him, fiddling with his cell.  
  
“Hey,” she said.  
  
“Hey, what?” he responded, not looking up from the tiny screen.  
  
She ran her teeth over her lower lip and looked around. “You figure her name out yet or what?”  
  
“Amy,” he said triumphantly. Buttercup snorted.  
  
“Well done. Say, how are you getting there?”  
  
He looked up, brow furrowed. “What?”  
  
“To Prom,” she elaborated. “I mean, are you renting a limo or what? I'm pretty sure she's not going to want to fly.”  
  
He blinked; clearly he had not given this much thought. “Huh. You've got a point.”  
  
“And have you ordered her corsage yet?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Buttercup held up an arm and tapped her wrist. “Her corsage. Little flower thing that goes here. The flower shops will probably have some day of, but pickin's will be slim and you're better off ordering one ahead of time.”  
  
“How the fuck do you know about this stuff?” he said in disbelief.  
  
“Hey,” Mitch said as he approached with his food. Buttercup clamped her mouth shut and went back to examining her apple as he took a seat two spaces away from her.  
  
“Mitch,” Butch said, then, because he was an idiot, “has Buttercup always been this secretly girly?”  
  
Buttercup instantly hurled the apple into Butch's face. “What the _fuck_?!” she snapped. “I've got two sisters, jackass! How do you _think_ I know about this?”  
  
She felt Mitch's eyes on her as Butch shone the apple on his sleeve and bit into it. She bit her lip and angled her head away, scowling as she propped both elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands.  
  
 _Idiot_ , she thought bitterly to herself.  
  
.~.  
  
“I refuse.”  
  
The rest of the room looked at Boomer in shock. Bubbles blinked out of her numbness and looked up as well.  
  
His usual smile had been replaced by a severe frown. The expression looked so out of place on him it was almost scary.  
  
“I'm not playing that role,” he said flatly.  
  
Dr. Wendell stepped forward. “But Boomer... that's the part you auditioned for. It's the lead! You got the part!”  
  
“I don't want it,” he said, giving Bubbles a significant look. “Not when she's—”  
  
Bubbles dashed up in a streak of blue and grabbed him by the arm. “Excuse us,” she said in a rush to Dr. Wendell, and hustled out into one of the practice rooms in the hall, Boomer in tow.  
  
She reluctantly let go and whirled on him. “Boomer, don't make this about me.”  
  
“It was _always_ about you,” he retorted, voice hard. “Why do you think I tried out in the first place?”  
  
“I thought you said you liked musicals,” she mumbled.  
  
“But that's not even the half of it! I sang with all the girls, and you...” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He shook his head. “They should've given you the part,” he said viciously. “That was stupid. They should've given you the part.”  
  
“I've still got a main part—”  
  
“As my _sister_!” Boomer cried. “And for the stupidest reason! Just because we _look_ alike! This shouldn't fucking be about how you look, it should be about how you _sing_!”  
  
Bubbles hunched her shoulders up, trying to make light of the situation. “You have to admit, we _do_ look alike. I mean, even more so than other, um, people who look alike.”  
  
“It's still a stupid reason,” he grumbled, pacing around the room. “It's stupid. You deserved Melody. I can't believe it. It's ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.”  
  
Bubbles leaned against the wall and watched him pace. He was so worked up about this. He was so outraged at her casting that she didn't even have a chance to feel disappointed for herself.  
  
“Boomer,” she said, the firmness of her voice stunning the both of them, “you can't turn it down.”  
  
He blinked at her. “Why's that?”  
  
“Because... I don't want you to.”  
  
Something in his expression shifted; he looked somewhat confused and somewhat elated and somewhat something else altogether. The words echoed in her head, and they weren't a lie.  
  
She smiled wryly. “I've built up a pretty long list of disappointments this week. If you turn down the part, it's just another one to add to my list.”  
  
A grim look entered his face, and he clasped her by the shoulders.  
  
“Go out with me,” he said, voice resolute.  
  
“No,” she said.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“ _No_.”  
  
He pouted and wheedled, “Pleeeeaaaase?”  
  
“Noooooooo,” she drawled back, fighting back laughter.  
  
“Not even with cherries and sugar and sprinkles and caramel and hot fudge and, uh, ice cream and whipped cream and—”  
  
“I'm not bargaining with you on this. Just take the part, already!”  
  
“But I want a daaaaaate!” he whined.  
  
She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, cocking her hands on her hips. “As long as I'm with Will, you don't have a chance.” Something occurred to her, and she rapidly amended, “Don't take that as an invitation to kill him.”  
  
The contemplative look that had entered his expression dropped off at her words.  
  
“Boomer, we could... you know, just be friends,” she offered, extending a hand.  
  
The color suddenly drained out of his expression and he gaped at her.  
  
“Did you seriously just say that to me?” he asked in a monotone.  
  
She smiled apologetically and shrugged.  
  
“Oh, what a thing to say to a guy,” he moaned, and started pacing around the room again. “Like daggers in my heart. _Daggers_. With little... spiky people attached to one end. And the daggers are dipped in lemons and chili peppers.”  
  
“You know, that's as good a deal as you're going to get—”  
  
“Deal,” he said abruptly, turning and shaking her hand. Bubbles laughed at his sullen expression, which didn't go at all with his enthusiastic handshake.  
  
He stopped pumping their arms and let them settle. Bubbles felt her hand start to go clammy in his.  
  
“Okay,” she announced, moving her hand from his to the doorknob. “Let's go tell everyone the good news.”  
  
“That you rejected me _yet again_ and pulled the old, 'Let's just be friends!' line on me? Yeah, that's good news.”  
  
“You accepted, didn't you? And besides, you know I'm talking about the musical.”  
  
“Can I still flirt?”  
  
“You're kinda doing it now.”  
  
“So can I?”  
  
“Within reason. I _do_ have a lot of fun rejecting you, sometimes.”  
  
He recoiled in offense. “Ugh! I thought you were the sweetest one!”  
  
She laughed and opened the door to the choir room. “I guess everyone's got a dark side, huh?”  
  
.~.  
  
The weekend was bright and sunny, and Blossom stared covetously out the windows of the Townsville Community Center at it. They had Jim's dance down already. Faust, on the other hand, kept changing bits of the choreography on them. In Faust's bid for perfection, she tended to come up with better ideas all the time, right down to the wire. She also had a knack for throwing a person waaaaay out of their comfort zone.  
  
“You know,” Brick said, his voice a low rumble at Blossom's collarbone, and Blossom tried not to blush and fidget. “We had conditions—”  
  
“Hush,” Faust said, and shoved Brick down to his knees in front of Blossom so his eyes were level with the zipper of her jeans.  
  
“Ahh, Faust,” Blossom squeaked, resisting the urge to flail, “I really don't think—”  
  
“Oh, cut it out, you guys, I'm working,” the woman said. Brick turned, a furious look on his face as he opened his mouth, and Faust clamped his jaw shut and forced his attention back to Blossom's hips. “You keep quiet. Now, Blossom, if you sway your hips here—”  
  
Faust's hands went to Blossom's waist and guided her hips in a sinewy side-to-side movement, eliciting a horrified squawk from Blossom.  
  
“ _I don't like this idea_ ,” Brick declared, his expression distraught and his eyes fixed on the movement of Blossom's hips.  
  
Faust went on, undeterred as she took Blossom's hand and placed it at the hem of her shirt. “And then if you do this here, play with the hem of your shirt a little—”  
  
She had Blossom clench the fabric and hike it up, just enough to expose skin—  
  
“ _Faust_!” Blossom gasped. If she'd been listening, she would've caught the sudden strangled noise from the boy kneeling in front of her.  
  
“And then pull away from him, hips first, and then Brick, at the same time she pulls back, you lean forward—”  
  
“Faust,” Blossom started warily, “I'm afraid this choreography's getting a little... um, too...” She trailed off, unable to summon the word to her lips with Brick there.  
  
“Go on, Blossom,” Faust encouraged.  
  
“Sexual,” Blossom said in a small voice, and Brick's eyes flickered up to her.  
  
Faust patted her shoulder. “Oh, Blossom, I know how you feel about that. Don't worry, it's just for four counts out of an entire four minute piece, and—” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait. I've got a better idea.” She snatched Brick by the arm and pulled him to his feet, where he stumbled against Blossom.  
  
“ _Eep_ ,” Blossom squeaked in the smallest of voices, because Brick was reallyreallyclose—  
  
Brick swallowed and dimly noted that Blossom's breasts were mushed up against his chest, which was _very unpleasant_.  
  
“Faust,” Blossom said out of the corner of her mouth, “how, um, how long are we with you today?”  
  
“As long as I want you to be,” Faust said cheerfully, and both parties winced, bracing themselves for the long day ahead.  
  
.~.  
  
After dinner, Blossom waited until her sisters had cleared out of the dining room before asking, “Um, Professor?”  
  
He looked up from his paper. “Yes, Blossom?”  
  
She rubbed her neck and tried to sound casual. “Will you be... able to make it to the grand opening performance for the Fine Arts Center? On Friday?”  
  
“I hope so,” he said, and Blossom suppressed a wince. The choreography wasn't _that_ bad, but still, he wasn't going to be happy with it...  
  
“I won't know for sure until Wednesday,” he continued, reaching a hand for hers. He patted it and said comfortingly, “For now, though, let's assume I am.”  
  
Blossom managed a weak grin. “Great.”  
  
.~.  
  
“They're only sending the Honors Choir to sing for the middle schoolers on Friday,” Bubbles said as she and Blossom approached school early Monday morning, stress evident in her voice. “That, on top of rehearsals starting for the musical—we're crazy busy.”  
  
Blossom nodded. “I hear you.”  
  
“How's it going with you and Brick?”  
  
Blossom did not like a question phrased like that. It made it sound like Bubbles was inquiring on the state of a relationship. A relationship that, to Blossom's relief, did not exist in the romantic sense of the word.  
  
“The dance is fine,” she said. “We've nailed Jim's piece, but both of Faust's are killing us. She keeps changing the choreography, like on a daily basis! I mean, she's a genius and all, don't get me wrong, but it's getting kind of ridiculous now. The performance is five days away!”  
  
“And you're starting musical choreography this week,” Bubbles reminded her, and Blossom groaned.  
  
“Right. The zombie musical. Fantastic.”  
  
Bubbles shook her sister by the shoulder. “Hey, tell me how he dances, okay?”  
  
Blossom blinked. “How... how who dances?”  
  
“You know... Boomer,” Bubbles said innocently, fiddling with her hair. “I mean, he's probably got all his songs memorized by now—”  
  
“In one weekend?” Blossom said dubiously.  
  
“Well, yeah. So he'll probably come to work with you first. Like, maybe Thursday or something.”  
  
“Why are you so interested?” Blossom prodded.  
  
Bubbles shrugged and said, “I'm not. I'm just curious, is all.”  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles was not kidding about Boomer memorizing his songs. Dr. Wendell told Blossom that Boomer and several others would be coming in Tuesday to start practicing. She and Brick were originally slotted to run through their two Faust pieces on their own, but due to this change in plans they opted to practice Wednesday morning instead.  
  
Brick lingered, which made Blossom feel all self-conscious. She imagined he was curious about Boomer, though, and before she could ask him if that was the case, students began filtering into the studio for rehearsal.  
  
“I am choreographing a zombie dance,” Blossom muttered flatly to herself as she stared at the cluster of students in her charge, many from Theater, most from Choir, with a handful of actual girls from the Company sprinkled in amongst them. She looked at Brick, perched at the mirrors as he flipped through their Calculus homework. “You're... sticking around to watch Boomer?”  
  
He shrugged. “I could use a good laugh.”  
  
“Whoo!” Boomer suddenly burst into the studio, skidding on his knees across the slick hardwood to the front of the room, stopping in front of Blossom. He threw his arms into the air. “Big zombie dance number! How awesome is this going to be?” He extended his arms to the redhead staring down at him. “Teach me, Hot Sexy Dance Goddess!”  
  
“Don't call her that,” Brick snapped.  
  
Blossom glanced back at Brick, who promptly engrossed himself in his Calculus textbook.  
  
.~.  
  
After the Honors Choir had finished practice, Bubbles furtively snuck into the dance studio. Not because she was interested. Just... curious.  
  
“Boomer,” she heard Brick say, and she blinked in surprise, peering around several students. Brick was here?  
  
“What up?” Boomer's voice asked.  
  
“You're moving half a step too early on the chorus,” Brick criticized.  
  
“What? You're kidding—”  
  
Blossom's exasperated voice echoed from the front of the room, “Brick, I _told_ you, I can handle it—”  
  
“I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Boomer.”  
  
“How am I moving early? I'm supposed to start moving right when I start singing—”  
  
“In that case, you start singing too early—”  
  
“ _I can handle this, Brick_ —”  
  
“I'm not singing 'too early!' Besides, what about artistic license, playing with the, you know, verse and all—”  
  
“If you're doing that, then you _shouldn't_ be moving when you start singing, right?” Brick said smugly.  
  
“Brick, if you're going to sit there and nitpick instead of doing your homework, then why don't you get _up here_ like I suggested and _show him yourself_?!” Blossom exploded.  
  
Bubbles stifled a giggle as the three of them argued, oblivious to her presence.  
  
.~.  
  
“How on Earth did your brother get to be so good?”  
  
Brick blinked in surprise as he and Blossom blocked in their moves. “Huh? You mean his dancing?”  
  
Blossom made a face. “Of course not. I mean, he's okay. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in energy. I was talking about his singing.”  
  
“Search me,” Brick said with a shrug.  
  
“We ran through that thing over and over, and he was singing at the top of his lungs each time. Doesn't he get tired? Or, you know, voice fatigue? That kind of strain on your voice will kill it, and yet he sang it dead on and with the same level of energy every time.”  
  
“Boomer's kind of a freak of nature,” Brick muttered, then darted a glance at Blossom out of the corner of his eye. “Like the rest of us, lest you forget.”  
  
Blossom huffed as they finished blocking their steps. “Oh, yes. Thanks for the reminder,” she said sarcastically, moving to turn on the stereo. “Once to music?”  
  
“Twice,” Brick said. “We're on in two friggin' days. I just hope Faust doesn't change anything between now and then, or I'll blow a fucking fuse.”  
  
“Mmph,” Blossom grunted, struggling to bite back her automatic reprimand for bad language. She set up the CD and turned, pausing as Brick tugged off his button-down shirt and hung it on one of the hooks along the back wall. It wasn't a big deal, he had a t-shirt on, but something about the fabric of that shirt as it slithered down his arm—  
  
“You ready?” he suddenly asked, and she blinked.  
  
“Yeah,” she said quietly, hurrying to take her place beside him as the music started.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles gazed up at Boomer with frightened, dewy eyes. “I thought... I thought you were _dead_.”  
  
Boomer stared, mouth slightly parted, then looked at the rest of the cast. “Can we turn this into an incest piece?”  
  
The room erupted into equal parts laughter and exasperated groans.  
  
“ _Boomer_!” Bubbles cried, unsuccessfully masking her laughter with a look of disgust.  
  
“Boomer, I thought you had your lines memorized,” one of the stage managers said.  
  
“I do,” he said vehemently, then pointed at Bubbles. “She keeps distracting me.”  
  
“I do not,” Bubbles retorted. “I'm just standing here.”  
  
“She's going to have to ugly it up some if you expect me to get anything right, is all I'm saying.”  
  
“Hush,” Bubbles said, smacking him on the arm again. “Guys, I'll be right back. I'm going to go get a drink of water while _this guy_ looks over his lines.”  
  
Boomer made indignant noises as Bubbles made her way out into the hall, headed for the water fountains. To her surprise, she ran into Will just outside the doors.  
  
She halted, suddenly feeling inexplicably guilty. “Will!”  
  
“Hey, baby,” he said, reaching a hand for her. “How's it going?”  
  
“Fine,” she said as he kissed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”  
  
He ran a hand through her hair, thinking. “Well, we hadn't seen much of each other since our anniversary... I was just wondering how everything was going.”  
  
She smiled apologetically and patted a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Will, that's so sweet. You know, if you really want to, you can sit in on the rehearsals—”  
  
“Nah, I don't want to distract you, you know—”  
  
“You won't! It's good practice for me, it'll get me used to an audience.”  
  
He laughed. “It's okay. Hey, do you have rehearsals this afternoon? Maybe we could go somewhere...”  
  
She gave him an apologetic look. “Will, I'm sorry. I'm really busy.”  
  
“You have to go to every one of these things?”  
  
Bubbles blinked. “Uh, yeah...” She grinned in an attempt to stave off her _Well, DUH_ expression. “I've got a pretty big role—”  
  
“Hey, Bubbles!” Both she and Will turned to see Boomer leaning out the door, who seemed a bit taken aback by Will's presence. “What's keeping you?”  
  
Bubbles glanced back at Will, whose face had hardened. That inexplicable feeling of guilt came back.  
  
“Sorry, Boomer,” she called, then turned her attention fully to Will and kissed him. A good kiss, too, a long, slow, sweet one, and when she pulled away, sure enough, that clouded expression was gone. She smiled. “See you later?”  
  
Will was glowing. “Sure thing, baby.”  
  
Bubbles touched his cheek as she turned and walked back to the door, where Boomer stood with an unreadable expression on his face. That guilty feeling hadn't gone away; if anything, it'd gotten worse. She didn't look at him as she passed by.  
  
.~.  
  
Butch and Buttercup stopped chatting, their attention caught by a somber Boomer as he shuffled into English.  
  
“Dude,” Butch said, lightly punching him in the arm, “did another Beatle die or something?”  
  
Boomer only grunted and took his seat. Buttercup and Butch exchanged a look.  
  
“What's up with him?” Buttercup whispered.  
  
Butch shrugged. “Beats me—”  
  
A slim pair of hands suddenly curved over his shoulders. Amy crouched, pressing her lips to Butch's neck. “Hey, Prom date.”  
  
Buttercup rolled her eyes.  
  
Butch laughed. “Amy, you hot bitch. What's up? What are you doin' here?”  
  
“Just wanted to drop by and see you,” Amy purred, tugging the collar of his shirt down. She looked at Buttercup and mock-gasped. “Oh, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”  
  
This was why Buttercup did not hang out with girls. She turned on the sarcasm and said, “Oh, _noooo_ , go right ahead, Amy, you _hot bitch_.”  
  
The girls narrowed their eyes at each other. Amy looked back at Butch, all smiles. “I was wondering where you wanted to go for dinner on Saturday.”  
  
Butch wrinkled his face in thought. “Saturday?”  
  
“Before Prom, genius,” Buttercup graciously supplied.  
  
“I'm sorry, Buttercup, but this is a private conversation,” Amy said in a soothing voice, then planted herself in Butch's lap, blocking his view of Buttercup.  
  
Buttercup rolled her eyes again and started rearranging her stuff in an effort to keep her hands from going around the girl's neck.  
  
“Did you have something particular in mind?” Amy asked Butch.  
  
“Not really,” he replied, sounding remarkably unconcerned. “Oh, on second thought—Buttercup?” His head appeared over Amy's shoulder. “You cook, right?”  
  
“Mmph,” Buttercup grunted in the affirmative.  
  
“Wanna cook dinner for us on Saturday?” he sneered.  
  
“Fuck no,” she snapped. “I'm not a God damn catering service, you bastard.”  
  
The bell suddenly rang, and Mr. Bean appeared at Butch's side. He extended a detention slip to Amy, to Buttercup's immense delight.  
  
“What's this for?!” Amy cried.  
  
“PDA,” Mr. Bean said flatly. “Butch, I think it's time you asked your... _friend_ to leave.”  
  
Amy sighed. “I guess I'll see you later.” She pouted as she pulled herself off of Butch's lap, trailing a finger along his chest.  
  
Butch watched with a predatory smile on his face as she sashayed out of the room. He turned back to Buttercup.  
  
'I'm going to need to get a car with a big backseat for that one,” he said under his breath.  
  
“Yes,” Buttercup said, adopting a thoughtful expression. “That's probably too much 'hot bitch' to fit in the front.”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick came home that day to find the surprise of his life waiting outside their apartment complex. He stared at the shiny, sparkling new red Coil convertible—the Two Hundred Series, he noted—catching the last of the day's sunlight as he circled it.  
  
He glanced at the building. There weren't a lot of tenants, but those that did live here had good money. The top was down, the rich, tan leather beckoning him in, and the thought of taking it for a ride sidled into his brain—  
  
“No,” he said firmly, shooting down that hope. Not in this city, where the girls would instantly be on his ass like white on rice. He turned on his x-ray vision, taking in the glorious engine that sat nested underneath the hood of the car. Then again, it _would_ be a lot of fun, speeding through the city with Blossom's face screaming at him in the rearview, her face flushed with anger—  
  
“ _No_ ,” he said again, shaking his head for good measure. Why did his brain keep _doing_ that?  
  
He circled around it once more, growing agitated. Whoever owned it had parked it in a red zone, obviously intending to draw the attention of anyone wandering by. It would've been far safer to park it in the garage, not to mention it would've saved them a parking ticket—  
  
Brick paused, his eyes on the slip of paper pinned beneath the wiper blades. It didn't look like a ticket. He glanced up and down the street, back at their building, then reached for the slip of paper, tugging it free and opening it.  
  
His eyes widened.  
  
 _I heard about Reccardi. Well done. Consider this a congratulatory gift.  
-JS  
  
PS. No. 1 of the Two Hundred Series. I went through Hell and back to get this for you, so keep it the fuck away from more monsters._  
  
Brick gaped at the note, then at the car. He shot into the building, screeched to a stop at the mailboxes where he discovered the key to the Coil in theirs, then streaked back outside just as a cop was writing him a ticket.  
  
He catapulted himself into the front seat, snatching the ticket out of the cop's hands.  
  
“So sorry, officer,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the engine as he jammed his key into the ignition and summoned life to the car— _his_ car. He pocketed the ticket, grinning. “I'll get right on this for you.”  
  
Then he shifted into first gear and practically flew out of sight, the city nothing but a blur as he leaned back in his seat, caressed that delicious leather on the wheel, and sighed in absolute contentment.  
  
.~.  
  
 _Friday_ , Blossom thought to herself with a nervous swallow as the bus pulled up to the curb. Prom was tomorrow. Blossom and the rest of the Company unloaded off the bus, many of them squealing and groaning at having reached Townsville Middle School. Blossom allowed herself a cringe. Middle school hadn't been a lot of fun, but she was too mature to dwell on things like that.  
  
“Who's performing for them right now?” one of the girls asked.  
  
“The Choir,” Blossom answered. She wondered if they'd get to see the tail end of Bubbles' performance.  
  
A low rumble suddenly interrupted her concentration, one that rapidly increased in proximity and volume. Within seconds, a blur of red had streaked into the parking lot, its tires screeching, and Brick slammed to a stop in an empty space, perfectly within the lines.  
  
He hopped out of his car with the widest grin on his face, pocketing his keys as he strode up to the girls.  
  
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said cordially.  
  
“Brick!” Blossom was incensed. “You were speeding in a _school zone_! You could've _killed_ someone!”  
  
“Impossible,” he said, still grinning as he passed her. “I'm too good a driver. You think I'd let myself hit someone? The impact would ruin the paint job.”  
  
Blossom scoffed in disgust as a cluster of girls cooed over his car and the boy it had housed.  
  
“Come on, guys!” Mrs. Olson's voice cried. “Choir's on their last two songs! We gotta hurry up and change, _now_!”  
  
.~.  
  
Brick adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as he stepped into the backstage area. A handful of girls were changed, ready for their opening performance. Then Blossom and Brick were going on for the ballroom piece, and then they'd have about five seconds to change for the closing number.  
  
“ _Girls_!” Blossom's voice suddenly hissed, and Brick turned to see a flash of sparkly pink dash by. “Hurry up and get into position! Where's Alicia? Why aren't the rest of the girls out yet?!”  
  
Brick could've done without the sparkly pink, but the length of the minidress was commendable. The girls had tights on underneath, but there was a lot of leg going on, and what little imagination the dress left was easily spent filling in the—  
  
“ _Brick_.” His eyes flickered to a pair of particularly nice legs that had stalked up to him, and he looked up to see they belonged to a livid Blossom. “What are you _looking at_?”  
  
Brick refrained from glancing down again and muttered, “My diminishing self-respect,” before turning and exiting into the hall. Had he really just been staring at her legs? God. He needed a drink of water.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles scuttled out of the bus and back onto the high school campus. She would've liked to have stayed to watch the Dance Company performance, but with all the rehearsals going on for the musical it wasn't really an option. Oh, well. She'd at least get to see Blossom and Brick dancing at the Fine Arts Center opening that evening.  
  
She dumped her stuff by the door as she entered the choir room, her face lighting up when she spotted Boomer. He looked up from his music as she made her way over, greeting other students along the way.  
  
“Hey,” she said brightly.  
  
He permitted her a small smile. “Hey. How'd the, uh, middle school stuff go?”  
  
“Okay. I guess we'll find out next semester when we see how many freshman have joined, you know?”  
  
He laughed courteously and looked back at his music. The grin faded from Bubbles' face; puzzled, she fidgeted a bit and tried to think of something to say.  
  
She blinked. “Oh! I was curious... are you going to Prom tomorrow?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said, meeting her eyes again.  
  
“Who with?”  
  
“No one,” he replied, surprising her.  
  
“N... no one? You don't have a date?”  
  
He shrugged. “Nah. Thought I'd go stag, you know?”  
  
Bubbles briefly entertained the idea of asking him to accompany her and Will's group out for dinner prior to the dance, but she imagined Will wouldn't go for that, and Ashley was still sore about her hair...  
  
“Well,” she said uneasily, a slow blush rising to her cheeks, “I hope you have fun. Maybe... maybe you could save me a—”  
  
Boomer looked up at her as Dr. Wendell suddenly burst into the room, clapping his hands to bring everyone to attention.  
  
“Alright, kids! Enough fooling around! Let's get to work!”  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom smiled as she changed back into her regular clothes, the post-performance glow brightening her mood by miles. The hip hop stuff had gone over well—that was always a crowd pleaser—but she'd been elated at the response to her ballroom piece with Brick. Typically, anyone under the age of eighteen found it a total bore to watch, but for whatever reason this one had managed to really resonate with the kids...  
  
She gathered up her stuff and exited the changing room, meeting Cindy along the way.  
  
“That was awesome, wasn't it?” Cindy said with a grin. “I couldn't believe how much they liked the ballroom stuff! Wouldn't it be great if Jim started getting younger students?”  
  
“Yeah, it would,” Blossom agreed as they walked out into the sunny afternoon. They both spotted Brick just ahead of them, approaching his car and glaring at a cluster of middle schoolers who had wandered outside and were examining his Coil from too short a distance. They scattered as they saw him coming, though two boys lingered a little longer than necessary. Brick looked as if he was about to cuss them out, then caught sight of Blossom and Cindy as they passed him on the way back to their bus.  
  
Blossom watched Cindy as the girl's eyes lingered on Brick. She wished Cindy would be a little less obvious about her infatuation. It wouldn't do anything to help that boy's ridiculous ego—  
  
“Want a ride?”  
  
Blossom and Cindy halted, turning to look at Brick. Blossom immediately cursed herself for turning, as if he'd be speaking to her, as if he'd be offering _her_ —  
  
But then again, he was looking right at her. Her chest suddenly went tight. Was he asking her? Seriously, was he—  
  
Those red eyes shifted their attention.  
  
“Cindy?” Brick questioned, and Blossom blinked as the girl beside her lit up and moved to take her place in the front passenger seat. He shut the door after her and walked around to the driver's side, never once glancing at Blossom.  
  
 _I imagined it_ , Blossom thought to herself as Cindy made an excited _Oh My God_! face at her. He wouldn't have asked her. Of course not. Blossom was his dance partner, but Cindy was his Prom date. Why would Blossom make that kind of mistake?  
  
She stood there and waved at Cindy, dumbly watching as Brick started the car and pulled out of his space. After a moment briefly spent entertaining her inexplicable disappointment, she gave a little huff, squared her shoulders, and made her way to the bus, eyes straight ahead and missing his as they cast her the briefest of glances in his rearview mirror.  
  
.~.  
  
 _That was stupid_ , Brick thought as he entered Townsville's Fine Arts Center. As he made his way across the sparkling tile floor, he berated himself for—he didn't know, slipping, or just making a dumb mistake. Why had he looked at her when he'd said it? Obviously he'd meant Cindy, why would he have meant her?  
  
She had confused him by looking. His attention had been drawn to her only because she'd turned. Her mistake had begotten his mistake. So really... this was all her fault.  
  
Stupid Blossom. Stupid Blossom for looking. For getting that scared bunny look on her face when she had. For blushing—it hadn't been a deep blush, but the slightest hint of color had risen to her cheeks, he'd noticed. Stupid her and her stupid face, her stupid legs, her stupid talent, her stupid pouty lips—  
  
“ _Stop it_ ,” Brick said loudly, his voice bouncing off the high ceilings. He relished the way it echoed, filled the air, because that helped to drown out his stupid thoughts, stupid stupid stupid—  
  
“Stop what?”  
  
Brick turned around to find a perplexed Blossom staring at him, her duffel bag slung over her shoulders as she walked through the doors.  
  
“None of your business,” he said sharply, and she grimaced at his animosity.  
  
“I don't care, anyway,” she said, passing him in a huff.  
  
He watched as she strode away from him, then followed, his eyes on her back.  
  
 _Stupid_ , he thought to himself in utter disgust.  
  
.~.  
  
“You two dance sooo well together,” Bubbles gushed the following afternoon as she brushed her hair at the vanity. “Even for the hip hop thing! Did he know hip hop? Was that his first time? Was he a hip hop virgin?”  
  
“ _Enough_ ,” Blossom snapped. “I don't know. I don't think he'd done hip hop before, though. He picked it up fast enough; I mean, it's easier when you have that gift for moving well.”  
  
“I'll bet you were an awesome teacher,” Bubbles sang. “Mrs. Morbucks was super happy about it, too, you could totally tell. Here. Let me do your makeup.”  
  
“I'm just glad the Professor missed the performance last night,” Blossom sighed as Bubbles sat her down and began fussing over her face.  
  
“Oh, there wasn't any bad stuff in it,” Bubbles said soothingly. “You're overreacting for nothing. I bet he would've thought it looked really cool. You guys barely touched each other.”  
  
“Well—ow, watch it, that's not supposed to go in my eye—I don't know. There's something... different about Brick. I'm sure the Professor would've picked up on it.”  
  
“Different? What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean...” Blossom drifted off, unsure how to explain it. Her thoughts fluttered back to when Cindy had gushed about it, how dancing with Brick took her to a completely different place, a different level. She bit her lip.  
  
“It's just that he's really good,” Blossom finished lamely. Buttercup burst into their room.  
  
“This weather is _nuts_ ,” she griped. “Freakin' ninety degrees all day and now it's dropped below sixty! I need a jacket.”  
  
“Are you leaving soon?” Bubbles asked.  
  
“I'm meeting up with the guys in about half an hour,” Buttercup called from the closet. “Crap. I've got all these hoodies, but none of them are warm enough...”  
  
“Just layer,” Bubbles offered. “Or you can borrow one of mine—”  
  
“You're not touching _my_ stuff,” Blossom added helpfully.  
  
“I don't want _either_ of your clothes,” Buttercup scoffed. “Fancy girly knee-length coats? No, thank you.”  
  
Bubbles and Blossom listened as Buttercup violently shoved hanger after hanger back, muttering under her breath. She suddenly paused—from the amount of hangers she'd gone through, it sounded as if she might be at the back of the closet now.  
  
“Find something?” Bubbles called. Silence.  
  
Finally Buttercup abruptly shoved all the hangers back into place and reappeared in the room, zipping up her hoodie.  
  
“No,” she grumbled. “I'll just suffer. See you guys. Have fun, or, you know, whatever you're supposed to do at Prom.”  
  
“Enjoy the band!” Bubbles hollered.  
  
“Bye,” Blossom said. They both listened as the front door slammed.  
  
“Okay. Check yourself out,” Bubbles said in a pleased tone, adjusting Blossom's seat so she could peer in the vanity.  
  
Blossom pursed her lips. “Not bad. I would've gone with a lighter shade on the lipstick—”  
  
“That's the lightest shade you own, and you own _nothing_ but light shades,” Bubbles sighed, and rummaged around on the desk. “Here. Got your boutonnière?”  
  
“Got it. Yours?”  
  
“Naturally.” Bubbles stood and fluffed out the curls at the end of her long hair. She extended a hand to help her sister up. “Ready?” she asked, beaming excitedly.  
  
Blossom managed a thin smile and hunched her shoulders up in some false approximation of enthusiasm.  
  
“Ready.”

.~.

“Boys!” Brick called from the living room, adjusting his jacket. “Where the fuck are you?”  
  
“Simmer down, bro,” Boomer said, his head appearing in the doorway to his room as he messed with his tie. “Hey, I'm no good at these. Help?”  
  
Brick sighed and beckoned Boomer to come forward as Butch threw open his door and sauntered into the living room.  
  
“Now look,” Brick started, looping Boomer's tie around his neck. “I shouldn't have to say this, but I”m saying it anyway because you two are _idiots_ —you especially,” he said, directing his attention to Butch. “Don't you dare fucking start anything tonight.”  
  
He tightened Boomer's tie and indicated Butch's, hanging loosely around his shoulders. “You goin' like that?”  
  
Butch smirked at him and held out one end of his tie to Brick. “If I was, I wouldn't be getting in line, would I?”  
  
“I oughtta fucking let you go like that anyway,” Brick muttered, jerking his brother forward and violently doing up a knot.  
  
“Why are you all worried?” Boomer asked, already tugging at his collar (“Cut that out,” Brick snapped). “Nothing's happened since Butch's whole thing with Buttercup—”  
  
“Are we gonna dwell on that forever, man?” Butch whined.  
  
“I'm not dwelling on your fucking fight, I'm dwelling on your fucking idiocy in general,” Brick said. “Do up your middle button, at least.”  
  
“No way,” Butch said. “It looks cool open like this. Makes me feel like some old time gangster.”  
  
“Seriously,” Boomer said, watching as his brother opened the delivery that had arrived from Penny that morning. “Why are you so worried?”  
  
“I don't want any screwups between now and the time we head back home,” Brick responded, extracting a boutonnière from its case and floating back to Boomer with it. “Smith's demonstrated that for all we're on vacation, he's keeping pretty close tabs on us.” Brick's thoughts briefly flickered to his new car. “So I want to make sure you two are on your best fucking behavior. Future depends on it, blah blah blah, you know.”  
  
Boomer rolled his eyes as Brick affixed the boutonnière to his lapel. “Your future.”  
  
“ _Our_ future,” Brick corrected, taking out Boomer's handkerchief and refolding it before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Got that, Butch?”  
  
“ _Snore_ —what? Were you just saying something incredibly boring and uninteresting?”  
  
Brick glared as he thrust Amy's corsage at Butch. “Fuck off. I'll see you guys at the dance.”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup wanted to kick herself. Why had she left early? Why hadn't she hung back and waited? She should've stuck around the house for at least fifteen minutes past the hour...  
  
Next to her, Mitch coughed and glanced at his watch. He'd done that ten times in the past five minutes, and they still had fifteen minutes to go before the show started. Fucking Harry and the twins, getting stuck in traffic. Why hadn't _they_ left early?  
  
A breeze ripped through the air and Buttercup withheld a shudder, crossing her arms tightly. She didn't want Mitch to know she was freezing.  
  
“Your friends here yet or what?” the guy at the door asked, and Buttercup and Mitch shook their heads. “They better hurry up. The band's setting up already.”  
  
Buttercup groaned and glared up and down the street. “Maybe I ought to just pick them up,” she muttered.  
  
“They said they were about a mile away the last time they texted,” Mitch said. “They ought to be here any minute now.”  
  
Buttercup made a noncommittal grunt, and then the conversation seemed to drop dead. It was weird, listening to them speak to each other. Her voice didn't sound right; neither did his. The words sounded hollow, fake. Like fake conversation. Which it practically was. They didn't have anything to say to each other, she realized. They didn't _know_ what to say. So they were just standing here, making up fake things to talk about to fill up the awkward empty space, but the problem was the fake conversation was even worse than the awkward silence.  
  
Buttercup stared at the concrete. She should've gone to Prom instead.  
  
She should've kept the dress. She should've sucked it up and gone. She could've found a date, or just gone stag and joined someone else's group. Anything but this.  
  
Except she probably would've hated that, too. She'd been to Homecoming once, their Freshman year, and then vowed never again. It was so ridiculously boring, a bunch of high school kids shuffling back and forth for five hours straight.  
  
She thought of how to rearrange her list of alternatives. She wished the rest of the guys were here, to keep her and Mitch from having to talk to each other, or be alone together. Failing that, she'd rather be at Prom than be alone here with Mitch.  
  
It felt kinda sad, saying that in her head. There'd been a time where she would've given anything to be alone with Mitch, to talk to him for hours on end. And it wasn't like they hadn't talked for hours on end, hadn't been alone together, ever. They'd actually done that a lot, first as friends, and then as a couple. But each time she'd come away from it knowing it wasn't enough. She could never get enough of him, never spend enough time with him.  
  
She'd loved him that much.  
  
She glanced at him briefly out of the corner of her eye, wishing there was someone to put between them so they wouldn't have to avoid looking at each other.  
  
Even loud, obnoxious Butch. Sure, he was a bit of an attention whore, but when he was being loud and attention-whore-y it saved everyone from having to deal with Buttercup and Mitch's breakup, which, even four months down the line, was still an off-limits topic of discussion. When they were laughing at his stupid shit it was easy to ignore that history.  
  
She sucked in her bottom lip, trying not to shiver against the cold. She wished Butch hadn't gone to Prom. She wished he were coming here, instead.  
  
“Guys, sorry! Parking was a bitch!”  
  
Buttercup and Mitch looked up to see the twins and Harry about half a block away, huffing and puffing as they jogged and waved.  
  
“Finally,” they both sighed in unison, relieved.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom subconsciously tightened her grip on Kris' arm as they made their way up the long staircase to the ballroom, stopping at the line of students waiting to check in. She felt several eyes turning on her, and shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“Everything okay?” Kris asked, smiling at her. She managed a small chuckle and smiled back.  
  
“Everything's fine,” she assured. Something had been nagging at her ever since they'd left her house, but at the look on Kris' face in the car she'd decided to refrain from asking. Now, however...  
  
She tried to sound casual. “How about you? Did the Professor give you the third degree?” she asked, recalling how Bubbles' boyfriends would always stop coming to the door to get her after meeting with their father.  
  
“Your dad was fine,” Kris laughed, but his face closed off a bit and his smile suddenly seemed a bit forced.  
  
“What'd you guys talk about?” she pressed. The Professor always turned on some sound muffling device, so even those in the house with superhearing couldn't make out his conversations with the boys.  
  
“Nothing important, or life threatening,” Kris assured her hastily. “Say, this is a really nice place. I don't think Townsville's ever done a Prom at a hotel, ever.”  
  
“It was really generous of Mrs. Morbucks to rent it out,” Blossom said, nodding as she looked around. With the ornate floral arrangements and high, beautifully lit ceilings, it was a far cry from the balloon and streamer-strewn gym that was more typical of a high school Prom.  
  
“I hope you enjoyed dinner.”  
  
She smiled and nodded vigorously. “Dinner was great.”  
  
The line moved up a little, and they both took a step. Blossom fidgeted. She didn't do this often, this whole going out... thing. It was a little frustrating, surrounded by all these other people who seemed to constantly go out on dates, or to parties, or do other stuff that people her age were generally supposed to do.  
  
“Hey,” Kris said, interrupting her thoughts. “You know, if later on... like if you want to leave early or something, that's fine with me. Just say the word. It's just Prom, after all.”  
  
“Oh... sure, okay.” The relief in her voice surprised even her; for some reason, she felt remarkably touched. Kris was such a sweet guy. And he had such a cute smile, too. Maybe Bubbles was right, maybe he _was_ the perfect guy to start out with for a girl like—  
  
“Oh my gosh, Blossom?”  
  
Blossom and Kris turned to see Cindy and Brick coming up the staircase. Sort of. All Blossom suddenly saw was the towering stack of sharply-dressed male who inexplicably hesitated as their eyes met.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles laughed as she spun on the floor with Will, giddy. Someone from the football team waved at them, and they paused as Will indicated where he could find the rest of the group. The guy looked around, confused.  
  
“Hold on,” Will said, extracting himself from Bubbles' grip. “Let me go show him.”  
  
“Hurry back!” she called, grinning. She swayed on the floor by herself, humming along to the music as she twirled around in her full-skirted blue satin dress. She reflexively began to scan the room for her friends, swishing the massive skirt about as she did so, and caught Boomer's eye from across the room.  
  
She halted, then raised a hand, grinning. _Hey_ , she mouthed, waving. He looked so nice! His tux was all white with just a hint of blue; he looked like a real gentleman—  
  
He allowed her a small smile before his attention was arrested by one of the girls from Choir, who grabbed his arm and tugged him forward for a dance.  
  
The smile on Bubbles' face faded. Was that his date? Hadn't he said he was going stag?  
  
“Miss me?” Will suddenly said over her bare shoulder, and she whirled around.  
  
“What?” she said, still distracted as he took her in his arms. “Oh... yeah.”  
  
.~.  
  
Like all girls, Blossom thought she had a certain type: The smart, kind-hearted, wholesome type. Handsome was a given; who wouldn't want the handsome type? To that effect, Kris was her type, and good-looking. The tall, dark-clad, broody, and ill-tempered boy who stood before her now? The type who refused to smile, no matter who he was looking at? The type who would wear a stupid, childish baseball cap to _Prom_? Not her type, in the least.  
  
So why the sudden flutter in her chest? Why the tightening in her throat, the emptiness in her stomach, the slow release of pressure as she let go of Kris' arm? Why did she do that? Why did all of that happen the very moment they met each other's eyes?  
  
“Dude,” Kris laughed, jarring Blossom from her thoughts. She gripped his arm again. “Thumbs up on the cap to Prom.”  
  
Brick glanced at Kris as Cindy shook her date's arm. “He really pulls it off, doesn't he? I couldn't believe it.”  
  
“Seriously, though, that's a really sharp suit. You look good, man.”  
  
Blossom smiled as she clung to Kris' arm and tried not to add a _God, does he ever_ to cap her date's statement.  
  
“Thanks,” Brick said, his voice a low rumble, and Blossom's smile faltered. It was the same voice that had been annoying her for nearly four months now, but coming out of Brick when he was dressed like _that_ gave it a whole different color, a whole different sound.  
  
Brick nodded at them. “You guys are looking pretty classy yourselves.”  
  
Kris patted Blossom's arm. “I think that's all this one, here.”  
  
Blossom flushed and shouldered Kris, making a face.  
  
“Doesn't seem implausible,” Brick said, and Blossom's eyes went wide as her blush deepened.  
  
Brick himself didn't look too happy with what he'd just said, while Kris, sweet, unassuming Kris, immediately complimented Cindy on her dress, a knee-length party dress perfect for dancing.  
  
“Hey, kids! Who's up next?” the chaperones at the table called, and Blossom and Kris whirled around.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Kris said, and checked them in. He waved at Brick and Cindy as he led Blossom into the ballroom. “See you guys!”  
  
“Bye,” Blossom finally breathed, clinging to Kris' arm and turning. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , she thought to herself feverishly, irritated when her mind's eye didn't listen and his image stuck, even in the dim lights of the ballroom.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles glanced up from their table where Will and a bunch of the guys were engrossed in heavy conversation. Something about reels to send to the college athletics recruiters, she didn't know. Wasn't it a bit late to be talking about sending stuff out, anyway?  
  
She'd tried to get involved in the girls' conversations, but most of them were in Cheer and, subsequently, only talking about Cheer. Bubbles gave up after five minutes and simply looked around, absorbing the Prom atmosphere.  
  
She really dug this whole Prom at a hotel thing. She'd been to Prom last year; Will had asked her when he was a Junior. That had been nice, and they'd gotten together after that, but this... this was something else. There was actually room to dance! And not-crappy appetizers! Bubbles played with her corsage as she gave the students on the dance floor an envious look. She hoped she'd be able to pull Will back up soon.  
  
She spotted Blossom and Kris dancing together and grinned. They looked so cute! Kris, with his wholesome good looks, and Blossom, with her soft, feminine beauty. She was so jealous of Blossom sometimes. _I should've messed up her makeup a little, on purpose_ , she thought wryly to herself, then laughed and shook her head. She could never be that mean.  
  
Butch was dancing not far away from them with his date—Amy, she recognized her from her Gym class. Wow. She was all over him. Bubbles had to admit, he looked pretty good in a suit. Butch himself appeared to be a little bored—odd, considering how... distracting Amy was being. If Bubbles had been a guy, it would've been hard for her to ignore what Amy was up to now. She did catch Butch's eyes darting to Blossom as she and Kris twirled by.  
  
Bubbles bounced her legs and glanced at Will again, trying to see if they'd reached a good breaking point for her to tug him up for another dance. No such luck; he was in the middle of a very animated sentence. She looked back at the dance floor again, and her eyes widened.  
  
Brick and Cindy were tearing it _up_. Cindy had a hot little number on, and Brick, even with that ridiculous cap permanently glued to his head, looked too cool for the room. She really liked his suit; she glanced at Will's, picturing him in a completely black ensemble with a brightly colored tie—  
  
He paused to take a breath, and she leaped at the sudden opportunity, latching onto his arm.  
  
“Hey,” she whispered into his ear, “let's go for another dance.”  
  
Some of the other girls who had tired of conversation snared their dates as well, and the guys were dragged over to the floor. Bubbles wound her arms around Will's shoulders and rested her head against his chest, sighing contentedly. He turned them as they swayed, and her eyes drifted around the room, suddenly falling on Boomer only a few feet away.  
  
She lifted her head. He was dancing with a different girl, now, someone she didn't know by name. Maybe he _had_ come stag.  
  
He whispered something into his partner's ear, and she giggled as she pulled back and beamed at him.  
  
Bubbles thumped her head back against Will's chest and squeezed him so close he choked for air.  
  
“Bubbles—ack, ease up, ease up,” Will gasped, prying her arms loose.  
  
“Sorry, Will.” She re-situated her arms more loosely on his shoulders, determined not to look anywhere else besides him.  
  
.~.  
  
“Having a good time?” Kris smiled at her like the gentleman he was as he led her to a table.  
  
Blossom smiled back and looked over at the dance floor. “I am,” she said.  
  
He looked relieved. “Good. You... well, you seemed kinda nervous at first.”  
  
She blushed and said hurriedly, “No! Or, um, yeah, maybe a little at first, but not anymore. Really, I'm having a really nice time.”  
  
She meant it. He was a competent dancer—not a trained one, but for an average person, he was decent. She'd only had to backlead a couple of times, and what's more, he'd recognized when she'd been doing it and laughed apologetically about it.  
  
“Coming off of having a partner like Brick, you must really be suffering with me out there,” he joked.  
  
“Oh—no, no, of course not!” Blossom cried, alarmed that he'd even brought that up. “Brick's, you know, a great dancer—actually, I guess he's _really_ great—but how can you say that I'd be suffering with you?”  
  
Kris shrugged and smiled. “I don't know. You seem like the type who would have standards about these things, and I guess I'm kind of... floored that I'm just managing to meet them.”  
  
Blossom stared at him. “Oh, Kris...”  
  
“So thanks for coming with me,” he said, guiding her into a seat. “Hey, do you want me to grab you some punch, or water, or something?”  
  
“Punch is fine,” she said, still gazing up at him. As he smiled and started to muscle his way through the crowd, Blossom stared at her hands. Was she that unapproachable? True, she had high standards. But did everyone feel that way?  
  
Blossom was popular and very well-liked, but she kept a small circle of friends, many of whom she shared with her sisters. She just didn't have time to make more, what with school and dance and superheroing and all her extracurricular charity events. She kept busy, even in the summertime. While she was the face of the girls when it came to doing interviews and public speeches, she really wasn't good at socializing just for the sake of socializing.  
  
And boys. Well, at least there, she had some grounds to argue for her high standards. There was that whole not wanting someone who invited Ignorance and Drama and Immaturity into a relationship, and high school wasn't exactly an ideal place to date and _avoid_ those things. She couldn't be all that unapproachable, either, considering how many times she'd been asked out.  
  
She played with the skirt of her dress and looked up to see if Kris was on his way back. No sign of him. But—  
  
She stared at Brick as he made his way to her table.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick had been watching the two of them as they danced, oddly smug about Kris' lack of ability. He'd caught Blossom backleading once or twice, unable to let her partner take complete control over their movements. It made him feel extraordinarily pleased with his date, and he twirled her into his arms as Kris and Blossom left the dance floor.  
  
“Oh, my God, I'm so tired,” Cindy gasped, but she was flushed with laughter. “It feels like we've been dancing for hours!”  
  
“Not yet,” Brick responded as he slowed their steps. “Isn't that what we're here for, anyway?”  
  
Cindy smiled at him, joy etched in every facet of her face. Brick idly worried that she was getting way too into him.  
  
“That, and an occasional break,” she said. She pulled away and said, “I'll just be a minute—I need to use the ladies' room.”  
  
Brick stuck his hands in his pockets and watched as Cindy trotted away on those nice long legs of hers. Her absence caught the attention of several girls, and his superhearing picked up on their voices as they exploded into heated whispers. A couple in particular stood out.  
  
“He's free!”  
  
“Are you kidding, he'd never dance with me—”  
  
Whoever'd said that last one was right. Brick was not interested in sweeping random girls off their feet, particularly if they didn't know how to dance. He scanned the room, pausing as he caught sight of a solitary Kris making his way across the room. At a table by the edge of the dance floor, Blossom was seated, examining her hands.  
  
Even seated, she cast an art-worthy picture. She sat up straight, the line of her back a smooth, graceful curve. It continued up her neck, into the nest of her updone hair. In a dress like that—and this was a purely objective observation—she resembled a Roman goddess.  
  
The girls were still whispering; a few of them were getting brave. They'd be on him any minute now.  
  
He went into action, navigating through the mass of people on the floor as the whispers turned to confusion and fell away. Blossom looked up as he approached, and he thought that she looked really nice tonight. From a purely objective standpoint.  
  
.~.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Blossom swallowed her heart back into her chest and looked up at Brick. “Hello.”  
  
“How’s your evening going?”  
  
She shrugged. “You know… it’s Prom.”  
  
He snorted. “Being that this is my first one, I wouldn’t know, actually.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Where’s your boy?”  
  
“Punch.” Ugh, one word responses? This wasn't right, Blossom was a better conversationalist than this! She had to be!  
  
“How’s Cindy?” she asked, then mentally kicked herself.  
  
He jerked a shoulder up and said, “Girls’ room. She just went, but I'm betting there's a hell of a line.”  
  
“Oh. Haven’t been.” _Haven’t been? HAVEN’T BEEN_? Blossom winced and would’ve shot herself in the face if she’d a) had a gun, and b) actually been susceptible to dying by a bullet to the head in the first place. Why was this so horrendously awkward? Where was all that stupid grace and composure when she needed it?  
  
Like a lifeline, Kris swept in, drinks in hand. “Here you are, m’lady,” he said regally as he passed Blossom a cup. She took it with a smile and gratefully sipped at it, glancing at Brick out of the corner of her eye.  
  
Kris looked up at Brick and smiled. “Hey, man. What’s up?”  
  
“Nothing besides this,” Brick said politely, nodding his head at the dance floor.  
  
“Kris, thank you for the punch,” Blossom said, and Kris smiled at her.  
  
An awkward pause followed. Blossom gulped at her punch, not feeling the least bit thirsty.  
  
Finally Brick looked at the doors and said, “Well, I’m—”  
  
Almost at the same time, a light bulb seemed to go off in Kris’ head and he said, “Oh! Did you two want to dance?”  
  
Blossom tried to cough the punch out of her lungs while Brick blinked, momentarily caught by surprise.  
  
“Blossom?” Kris patted her back and took her punch from her.  
  
“I’m fine,” she wheezed. “Really, Kris, I don’t think that’s—”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Kris and Blossom looked up at Brick, color rising to her cheeks. He’d recovered from his disbelief and was holding out a hand to her.  
  
“You don’t mind if I steal her for a dance?”  
  
Blossom felt Kris helping her up, and she swallowed, glad for the dim lights that were masking her flushed face.  
  
“Go for it. It’d be criminal of me not to let you two celebrities have a turn, anyway.”  
  
She glanced at her date, her award-worthy, Man of the Year date. Kris was giving her an encouraging grin.  
  
 _This is not a good idea_ , she thought, and yet her hand was already moving towards Brick's.  
  
“Alright then,” Brick said in a low voice, and her heart went skittering as he took her by the hand.  
  
.~.  
  
“Huh. Here comes your sister.”  
  
Bubbles followed the direction of Will’s gaze, her eyes widening as Brick and Blossom made their way into the middle of the dance floor. “For a slow song?”  
  
Her boyfriend looked back at her. “What’s the matter with that?”  
  
“Nothing, it’s just… well, you dance to slow songs with the one you’re with, right?” Her eyes trailed after them, at least until they passed by Boomer, gently swaying with yet another girl in his arms, his eyes right on Bubbles.  
  
A hot blush rose to her face and she quickly tore her eyes away, burrowing into Will’s neck. What was that idiot _doing_ , staring at her like that?!  
  
“Hey.” Will broke through her thoughts, and she looked at him. “You mind if we sit out the next few dances? I’m getting kinda tired.”  
  
Bubbles blinked, trying not to let the disappointment show on her face. They’d only been up for two songs—  
  
She shook her head. “No, I don’t mind.”  
  
“Awesome.” Will started to lead her off the dance floor. “Let’s go get something to drink.”  
  
“Sure.” Bubbles trailed behind him, swallowing down her frustration. Almost as an afterthought, she glanced back with the intention of watching her sister, but then those wretched, deceptive eyes of hers instead wandered over to where Boomer stood, his attention back on his partner.  
  
She furrowed her brow and turned away, following Will and feeling an utter idiot.  
  
.~.  
  
She realized it was cliché of her to think so, but nonetheless, Blossom could not help but believe Brick was vastly different from any other boy she’d known in her entire life.  
  
When he curled his arms around her on the floor, he didn’t wind them both around her hips like all the other non-dancers surrounding them. He treated it as if it were no different from a performance. One of his hands touched at her waist, and the other clasped hers at shoulder height.  
  
Blossom laughed a little to mask her nervousness. “Proper closed position, huh?”  
  
“I don’t half-ass things,” he said simply.  
  
She rolled her eyes, but followed suit, placing her free hand on his shoulder. It was a bit of a mistake, she realized, because at his height and even in heels she had to get closer to him to do it, and she hastily shifted her hand down to his upper arm, trying not to let it feel too much like a caress.  
  
“I don’t think we’ll really have room to do a proper dance,” she said, looking around them. Brick wasn’t looking at her, but from the expression on his face she could tell he wasn’t really bothered by it.  
  
“I’ll find room.”  
  
Before she had a moment to make a face or feel repulsed at his typical arrogance, he led her into a slow waltz step, keeping their movements small to avoid knocking into everyone else—a remarkable accomplishment, she later reflected, considering the number of people that were crowded around them.  
  
She allowed herself an impressed smile after he managed a full turn. “Well done.”  
  
He scoffed. “Please. That's nothing.” He spotted a clearing just wide enough to dance through and swung them into a full pendulum swing. As he did he let go of her waist, sending her into a twirl that she very nearly made a misstep into.  
  
“I saw that,” he teased quietly when he swung her back into his arms.  
  
“You took me by surprise,” she grumbled, fighting a blush.  
  
He smirked. “I told you I’d find room.”  
  
Sure enough, the crowd was expanding into a circle of onlookers around them. A part of Blossom wanted to rub that smug look clean off his face.  
  
“Not bad.” She shrugged. “For an amateur.” She had to subdue her smirk at the agitation that flitted across his expression.  
  
Brick seemed to take a second to consider exactly how to respond. Then he leaned in, his expression darkening just slightly as he replied, “From one amateur to another, huh?”  
  
The words tumbled out of her before she could think twice. “Guess that makes us quite the pair.”  
  
He stared at her, his mouth dropping open in surprise. Blossom suddenly felt very aware of the weight of his hand on her waist, almost too heavy and definitely too warm. For a moment they danced in silence.  
  
“I guess,” Brick finally said softly, and Blossom felt a slow heat working its way onto her face.  
  
She cleared her throat and stammered, “S-so, where did you learn to dance?”  
  
The question seemed to catch him a bit off-guard; he contemplated for a moment before answering.  
  
“This girl was having trouble dancing, but desperately wanted to learn, so I kinda... became her partner.”  
  
Blossom recalled something, something that might be important, and quietly said, “It wasn't just the girl, though, right?”  
  
She noted how Brick's expression closed off, an almost imperceptible shift. “Her father was an old friend of Smith's. It was a favor.”  
  
“And who exactly is Smi—”  
  
Suddenly Brick shifted his weight. The hand that held hers let go, moving to her knee, and he brought her leg up around his waist for a hook. She stiffened and reflexively wrapped her free arm around his shoulders to keep from falling, her cheek pressing against his chest. There was anger there, somewhere, but it was only a feeble flicker, nothing compared to the nervous thrill that suddenly exploded and expanded in her as they... what? What were they doing anyway?  
  
 _I'm just nervous because he's a good dancer_ , she fervently thought to herself, her inner voice nearly drowned out by her deafening heartbeat. Or maybe it was his. _It's just because I've never been led like this before, by someone who could actually dance_.  
  
He guided her back into a three-step, unable to keep the look of awe from his face. “You take cues well. Four stars for you.”  
  
“A-a hook isn’t technically a waltz thing,” Blossom said nervously.  
  
“Good catch,” Brick agreed. “I guess that means you get another star for paying attention.”  
  
She colored at the compliment. He felt so steady as he held her, led her around their limited space on the floor. _He was avoiding your question_ , some little voice in her head complained, but Blossom couldn't hear it. She was ridiculously giddy as the song ended and they came to a slow stop, her dress whispering about their legs. Her head felt light and fuzzy; she felt otherworldly, invincible, more super than superhuman.  
  
She didn’t even need to work up any nerves when she asked, with her hand still in his, “Up for—”  
  
 _Another_ , she meant to finish, but suddenly Brick turned, his attention caught by Cindy at his arm.  
  
“You guys look gorgeous, but I’ll have to steal him back now,” she laughed, her eyes a touch frantic with fear.  
  
“Oh, sure,” Blossom said, a little taken aback, and suddenly her hands were dead weights at her sides as Brick let go and turned away without even looking at her. She stood still for a moment, dazed and a little unsure of what to do. The circle filled in again with students, and as she watched them swallow Brick she felt like a little lost girl in the crowd.  
  
“You,” a voice said over her shoulder, and she turned to see Kris beaming at her, “are _crazy_ talented.”  
  
.~.  
  
Within a minute Bubbles had tired of sitting, and she let Will know she was going to join some friends on the dance floor. Her eyes were on Kim, Mary, and some boys and girls from Choir. Boomer was no longer among them, but she didn't think she needed to go _looking_ for him. If he wanted to dance with her he'd show up again. And she'd say, Sure, why not? What was a dance between friends?  
  
“Are you looking for someone?” Kim shouted, trying to speak over the music.  
  
Bubbles whipped her head back around to face her friend. “Oh! No, I just... I thought I saw something by the door.”  
  
Kim looked as if she wanted to say more, but then Bobby's hands wove around Kim's midsection from behind and she giggled, turning to face her boyfriend. Bubbles smiled, relieved. Kim was a little too observant sometimes.  
  
She stayed with the group for another three songs or so, eventually losing herself in the music and the dancing. It wasn't until the third song ended that she suddenly spotted Boomer with his arms around Haley. His ex.  
  
“Bubbles!” She looked around to find Mike at her shoulder. “Hey, how's it going? I was wondering, have you seen—”  
  
The name was drowned out by a blast of music from the speakers. Bubbles reached for Mike and pulled him close, getting him to dance with her.  
  
“What was that?” she asked, suddenly aware of Boomer's eyes on her back as she danced with Mike.  
  
.~.  
  
“Aren't you getting tired?” Brick asked. “Now we've _really_ been dancing for, like, two hours.”  
  
“Really? I guess... I guess I just lose track of the time when I'm dancing with you.” Cindy's voice was meek, her eyes meeker. Oh, no. Brick did not need this.  
  
“Um, you know what?” he said, pulling back and holding a hand to his head. “I think it’s my turn to use the restroom.”  
  
“Oh.” Cindy lowered her arms and looked uneasy. “Well, hurry back!”  
  
“Yeah,” Brick said, not bothering to mask the disinterest in his voice, and before she could react he turned and walked out into the landing that overlooked the hotel’s lobby. Cindy was fine. There was nothing wrong with her. She was good enough, as a dancer, as a date. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her, unlike—  
  
Brick gave a brusque twitch of his head and thought, _She’s got nothing to do with this_.  
  
He paused at the rail near the restrooms and sighed, looking up at the light fixtures. When he really thought about it, why the fuck had he even asked Cindy?  
  
 _Because you didn't want to ask the other one_ , his brain said, and he could've punched himself for the reminder.  
  
He wouldn't have asked the other one. Obviously he hadn't. He'd wanted to look good, so he'd asked Cindy. There. That was his reason.  
  
Cindy was a pretty girl, in a really hot dress that showed off her mile-long legs. Compared to... the other girl he'd danced with, who'd practically been covered from head to toe, Cindy was the one who drew one's attention. Or was supposed to.  
  
Like he hadn't noticed every boy in the room shooting jealous glares at Kris as they danced. Kris wasn't a dancer, but it wasn't about the dancing. His partner seemed to catch the light and reflect it in what little skin she showed. There was practically a collective sigh that went up every time she twirled and that dress flared up, barely exposing her calf—just a calf! It wasn't like she was baring her back, or that skin above her chest, or even a knee. And still she commanded the room's attention, made her presence known with every smile, every movement, every soft peal of laughter that fluttered past her lips—  
  
Brick shook his head again and stared purposefully into the distance, ignoring the memory of how it felt to draw her leg around his waist, to twirl her into his arms, to see her smile as the skirt of her dress caressed his leg like some ethereal whisper. It wasn't about her. It wasn't about her at all.  
  
He made a point of not thinking her name.  
  
.~.  
  
“Blossom?”  
  
“Huh?” Blossom stopped craning her neck to watch Brick leave the room (sans Cindy, she noted, feeling guiltily smug) and looked at Kris.  
  
“What’s up?” Kris asked.  
  
“Nothing,” she instantly said.  
  
“Okay. It’s just, your feet are off the ground—”  
  
Blossom looked down and realized she was floating a good few inches above him.  
  
“Oh! Sorry,” she said apologetically, and lowered herself to the floor. “I’m just… I don’t know, I think…”  
  
“Are you okay?” Kris asked, concern etched all over his face.  
  
“Yeah, um… I think I just need to step out a bit, get some air, you know…”  
  
“Do you need me to come?”  
  
“No,” she said hastily, shaking her head and cursing her lack of subtlety. “I’ll just be a minute. Sorry. I’ll be right back.”  
  
She laughed uncomfortably and turned away, heading for the doors through which Brick had passed. She wasn’t following him, she was serious about needing air. And there wasn’t any point in Kris coming, really, all she needed was a moment…  
  
She paused just outside the ballroom, clenching her skirt in her hands as she furtively darted a look at Brick. He was standing at the rail, studying the ceiling.  
  
Blossom followed his gaze and squinted. She wasn’t up on her art history and tried desperately to recall bits and pieces of what she knew… columns, there were tall columns against the walls that rose up from the floor to the ceiling, darn it, what were the different types… there was Doric, Corinthian, what else… Tuscan? Bionic—no, that was ridiculous, it was Ionic. Ionic? Were these Ionic columns?  
  
Whatever. She shook her head and took a deep breath. Ionic would do, and besides, if she got it wrong he’d just correct her anyway and they could still hold a conversation… she hesitated. She wasn’t really sure she wanted to be wrong about anything. She focused on the ends of the column again, thinking, thinking… yes, it was too complex to be Doric and too simple for Corinthian. Satisfied, she squared her shoulders, took another deep breath, and… paused again.  
  
She blinked, staring at Brick, the question _These are Ionic columns, aren’t they_? heavy in her throat. She didn’t need to do this. Why did she even want to do this? They weren’t friends, they weren’t close, they were just dance partners and little more than classmates besides.  
  
She stared and stared at his profile, and suddenly recalled the feel of his hand behind her knee, the unfamiliar lightness in his eyes, his voice as they’d danced not ten minutes ago.  
  
 _But that's no reason to go talk to him_ , she thought to herself. If anything, she ought to be calling him out on his attempt to distract her from asking about Smith. There. _That_ was a good reason.  
  
Blossom took another deep breath and sighed, then stepped forward.  
  
Suddenly there was a flurry of legs that zipped past her, and she halted, her irritation at his avoidance of her question dissipating. She watched Cindy trot her way over to Brick.  
  
It felt like being punched in the stomach, watching him turn to Cindy without so much as a look in Blossom’s direction. He probably hadn’t seen her yet, she realized. After all, she was near the doors and he was a good couple of yards away and Cindy was right there and she was his date besides—  
  
Blossom realized she’d look awful silly standing by the doors alone and casually started walking to the bathroom. Cindy and Brick were turning and heading back to the ballroom…  
  
Blossom blew her hair out of her face and put on her best nonchalant look, pretending not to notice them. As they all passed each other, she chanced a fleeting look at Brick—  
  
—who didn’t even acknowledge her existence as he passed right by her.  
  
She felt the nonchalance dropping off her face and blindly wandered into the packed girls’ restroom, feeling more miserable than she could ever remember feeling in her entire life. She stood in the vanity room for a minute. She didn’t even need to go, didn’t need to wash her hands or check on her makeup or anything, but she stepped up to the mirrors with the other girls anyway, their squealing and giggling weak background noises against the turbulence in her head.  
  
He hadn’t even looked at her, she recalled wretchedly as she stared past her reflection. Where only fifteen minutes ago she’d been in his arms, both of them dancing and talking like normal human beings. He hadn’t even looked at her. He hadn’t smiled, or said hello. He hadn’t even looked at her.  
  
 _You guys aren't supposed to be looking at each other anyway. What do you care whether he looks or not?  
  
I don't. I don't care_, she thought back, trying to make it not matter, but then she thought of how warm he had felt when her cheek had been pressed to his chest and that just ruined everything.  
  
She was so stupid, pretending to examine her makeup and hair in here and feeling unhappy because Brick, that jerk, that idiot, hadn’t looked at her. That was a stupid thing for her to feel. She had a great Prom date and she looked amazing and she didn’t need Brick.  
  
Blossom finished pretending to fuss with her face and made her way out of the bathroom and back towards the dance hall. She didn’t need Brick. Of course she didn’t need Brick. She didn’t need Brick for anything.  
  
And yet, when she walked back through those doors, eyes searching for him instead of Kris, trying not to feel pissed off and hurt, she still thought desolately to herself, _The least he could’ve done was look at me_.  
  
.~.  
  
Bubbles was about ready to give and go back to working on getting Will to dance when Boomer suddenly re-joined the group of Choir students she'd been dancing with.  
  
“Hey!” she cried, trying not to look or sound too enthusiastic at his arrival. “Where have you been?”  
  
“There's this thing called Prom going on; it's been sucking up all my free time,” he responded with a grin. “Hey, can I borrow you for a minute?”  
  
“You mean, like, for a dance?” Bubbles said casually, making a point to keep the hope out of her voice.  
  
“I mean, like, for a talk,” he clarified, and after a moment Bubbles nodded. She half-expected him to take her by the hand, but he simply turned and started for the door, glancing back and beckoning at her to follow. She bustled her way through the crowd after him, and finally took a deep, relieved breath as they made it out of the ballroom.  
  
“I think I'm a little claustrophobic now,” she laughed, but her smile faded when Boomer didn't respond. He just studied the staircase, his brow lined in thought.  
  
She shifted her weight, fisting her hands in her skirt. After a long bout of silence, she said timidly, “Boomer? Are you mad at me?”  
  
He looked at her, a small smile creeping onto his face. “A little.”  
  
Her face fell; she felt the room go cold and tears began to well up in her eyes. “Really?”  
  
He nodded, and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Well... you know, at rehearsal...” Boomer swiped a hand through his hair and took a slow inhale. The look on his face suddenly reminded Bubbles of the look he'd had after she'd kissed Will in the hall.  
  
“I mean,” he went on, “I dunno, I was just right there and everything.”  
  
She kept clenching the fabric of her skirt in her hands, crushing it with her fists. Her mouth had gone dry and where a faint hope had resided in her chest only minutes ago, it had now been overtaken by guilt. Tears were building up behind her eyes, threatening to spill, but she fought them back. He was right, she was a bad person, how could she do that, she was just trying to be a good girlfriend and show Will that Boomer wasn't a threat—  
  
“I'm sorry,” Bubbles croaked, unable to summon anything else to say.  
  
“I'm sorry, too. I didn't drag you out here to tell you that.”  
  
She blinked furiously to keep any tears from falling. “What?” she laughed half-heartedly. “Good news? Please say it's good news.”  
  
It wasn't a Good News type of expression. He took a deep breath and sighed.  
  
“I'm leaving at the end of the school year,” he said, his voice heartbreakingly neutral, and now, now Bubbles' vision warped as those tears finally spilled out of her eyes.

.~.

Blossom and Kris swayed in silence amidst the crowd, having run out of things to say to each other. It wouldn't have been that bad, except the silence made Blossom uncomfortable, and from the way Kris fidgeted as they danced, she guessed he was feeling the same way.  
  
“You know, I almost didn’t ask you,” he suddenly blurted.  
  
Blossom looked up. “Really?”  
  
Kris opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then gave a short laugh and looked at the ground. It was adorable, frankly, and Blossom was charmed once she saw his ears go red.  
  
“Why not?” she pried, intrigued.  
  
“Come on,” he said, looking up again, “you’re so… I mean, here’s Blossom, Miss Superhero, who’s like ridiculously smart, and, and talented, and beautiful—”  
  
She lowered her head. “I’m not that—”  
  
“—and whose gorgeous legs are modeling shoes now, and she’s also totally every high school guy’s, like, dream girl—”  
  
 _Not every high school guy’s dream_ , she thought to herself a little cynically.  
  
“—and I’m like… like just a nobody—”  
  
“Kris!” she cried, “what are you talking about?”  
  
“I dunno, I'm just...” He hunched his shoulders up and another nervous laugh escaped. “I just think, I don't know what I'm doing here, with, you know, Blossom, at Prom. I mean, I'm not even... you know, remotely in your league...”  
  
He went on and on, and Blossom listened, the smile fading from her face the longer he spoke. Kris was such a good guy. He was so sweet. He was so nice.  
  
Here she was, crestfallen over some guy—some _villain_ , for crying out loud—for all these stupid reasons, for not asking her to Prom, for not looking at her, for flirting with her one moment and ignoring her the next. And then there was Kris, this sweet, wonderful boy who couldn’t stop telling her how remarkable she was, how beautiful or talented she was, and even with him being adorable and blushing as he gave his verbal dissertation on all the Fifty Thousand Things There Were to Love About Blossom, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.  
  
Kris was saying all the right things. All these wonderful things. And it wasn’t even enough to displace that want in her heart, how much she wished he had just _looked_ at her.  
  
 _He’s soooo totally the perfect guy to start with for a girl like you_. Bubbles had been right. Blossom felt like the most wretched person in the world.  
  
“I just… it’s like I don’t deserve you,” he sighed, avoiding her eyes. Just over his shoulder, in the distance, Brick swayed with Cindy in the dim light.  
  
Blossom reached for Kris, taking his head in both her hands.  
  
“No,” she heard herself whispering, forcing her eyes to Kris. “That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”  
  
She felt herself moving closer as her brain furiously tried to summon information culled from womens' magazines, from Bubbles, from _anywhere_ about kissing. It seemed just the right moment, and maybe that was what she needed to know if Kris was right for her, if the kiss was just perfect—  
  
She chickened out. Before her lips could brush his she turned her head to the side and stopped. She could face down monsters and criminals and supervillains, but she couldn't do this. One little kiss she couldn't do.  
  
Incidentally, she didn't need to. Kris, upon seeing her draw close then shy away, face flushed, steeled his resolve, took her chin in his hand, and did it himself.  
  
.~.  
  
It all happened very strangely.  
  
Brick just had the sudden impulse to turn around. There was that familiar sense of… something big, something important about to happen to him, or hit him, and he furrowed his brow as he guided Cindy around so he could see what was coming.  
  
And then.  
  
He felt himself stopping. He felt the room slowing down to a near crawl, heard the music warping as time bent in on itself. Blossom opened her mouth and kissed Kris.  
  
And kissed him.  
  
And kissed him.  
  
The room was hot, so hot it pissed Brick off, and the music was too fucking loud, and if Blossom didn’t stop… _draining_ the life force out of her date Brick was going to—  
  
“ _Brick_ ,” Cindy said sternly, and he blinked.  
  
Without looking at her, he said, “What.”  
  
Rather than respond, Cindy turned her head to see what Brick was staring at.  
  
“Oh, my... oh, my _God_.” After a few more seconds of staring, she turned back to Brick and gaped. “I've never—I've never seen Blossom—”  
  
“Do you want to go back to the car?” Brick interrupted, focusing his attention on Cindy’s face.  
  
Her pretty features went slack with surprise. “But… Prom’s not over yet—”  
  
“I want to take you somewhere,” he explained, voice getting low and gravelly, and he saw her eyes glaze over and a blush rise to her cheeks. “Anywhere. Anywhere you want to go.”  
  
She bit her lip, then nodded, her blush deepening.  
  
With a sigh, he guided her around and towards the exit, resisting the urge to shatter everything in his sight. Before he stepped outside he cast one last furtive glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Blossom pulling away from Kris, blushing as she blinked and looked at him.  
  
And then she looked at Brick. Just for a second.  
  
A second was all he needed. He directed his attention to Cindy’s pale, smooth neck, then bent as if to give it a kiss, letting his tongue slide past his teeth for a taste of his date’s skin.  
  
He felt Cindy go tense in his arms, and he tightened his grip on her as they made their way to the stairs. He darted one last glance at Blossom, stiff and gray as she watched them leave. She’d seen it.  
  
 _Good_ , he thought viciously to himself, and pulled Cindy towards the stairs.  
  
.~.  
  
Boomer laughed nervously as he patted his pockets, then remembered the handkerchief and pulled it out, handing it to Bubbles.  
  
“I didn't mean to make you cry,” he said as she took it and dabbed at her eyes, trying not to ruin her mascara any more than she already had. “I just thought I should tell you.”  
  
“No, I'm sorry, I just—I feel really bad. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I just didn't want to...” She trailed off, catching sight of a tense Brick hastily guiding Cindy down the stairs and out the door. She shook her head and looked back at Boomer. “But you're not kidding? You and your brothers, you're all leaving?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Bubbles twisted his handkerchief in her hands. “Leaving where—”  
  
“What the—Bubbles?”  
  
Both of them whirled to see a furious Will at the ballroom's entrance. One look at Bubbles' tear-streaked face and he dashed to her side, yanking her away by the arm.  
  
“What the hell did you do to her?” he demanded, glaring at Boomer.  
  
“Will, no! He didn't—”  
  
Boomer's expression hardened and he snapped, “Me? What did _I_ do to her? This coming from the guy who'd rather sit with his buddies all night talking about stupid shit when his girlfriend's out there on the dance floor by _herself_? What kind of selfish prick are you?”  
  
“Look, asshole, mind your own business. Did you think I wouldn't notice? You said you'd back off, and what do you do? You're in the musical together, you're here at Prom trying to be the sweet, sensitive guy—”  
  
Bubbles jerked her arm out of Will's grip and shoved them both away from each other. “Stop it!”  
  
“Oh, you want sweet and sensitive, huh?” Boomer's lip curled as his hand clenched into a fist, blue light starting to dance along it. “I'll give you sweet and sensitive—”  
  
Bubbles gasped and tackled Boomer by his other arm, but he didn't budge as he brought his fist back at the same time Will raised his—  
  
“Comin' through,” Butch announced, passing right between the two boys and deflecting both their intended punches with a shield as he strode through. Boomer stumbled back, Bubbles still clinging to his arm, as Will shook his hand out, grimacing in pain.  
  
Butch strolled down the stairs and waved a hand lazily over his shoulder. “See you back home, bro. I'm outta here.”  
  
A baffled Amy came tearing out of the ballroom and stopped at the railing of the landing.  
  
“Butch! What are you doing?”  
  
“What's it look like, sweetheart? I call it leaving!”  
  
Amy stamped her stiletto-clad foot. “What?! Without me?”  
  
Butch stopped and turned to look at her. “You wanna stay, don't you?”  
  
“Of course I do!”  
  
“And I wanna leave. Call it a compromise.”  
  
“Wh—but how am I supposed to get home?!”  
  
“Stand on the corner and stick your pretty little thumb out. Someone's bound to pick up a looker like you.”  
  
“ _What did you call me_?!” Amy screeched, livid.  
  
“ _Looker_!” Butch bellowed back. “I said, ' _looker_!'”  
  
The group watched dumbly as Butch made his way through the doors and took off. With a disgusted, “Ugh!” Amy stalked back into the ballroom.  
  
Will turned, his gaze steeling over at Boomer, who still had Bubbles latched onto his side. Bubbles glanced at her arms clutching Boomer's, and hastily disentangled her grip.  
  
“Come on, Bubbles,” Will said, taking her by the arm and leading her back into the ballroom. “Let's grab your stuff and go.”  
  
Bubbles glanced back at a stony-faced Boomer as he glared at Will. His gaze shifted to her, disappointment replacing the anger.  
  
Bubbles averted her eyes and followed her boyfriend, fighting back a fresh wave of tears and clutching Boomer's handkerchief in her hand.  
  
.~.  
  
“You can't hang out with him anymore,” Will ordered as they sped home in his car.  
  
Bubbles glared out the window. “So what, I'm supposed to drop the musical?”  
  
“Maybe you should, just so you can show him you don't want anything to do with him.”  
  
Bubbles scoffed. “What are you, like, my _dad_ now?”  
  
“I'm just throwin' it out there.”  
  
“After all the time I put into it? No way! I'm not dropping the musical!”  
  
“He's totally trying to steal you away, he has no... he doesn't even pretend that he's not interested—”  
  
“ _Everybody knows he's interested_!” Bubbles exclaimed, exasperated. “This isn't _news_. So he likes me! So what? Not to brag or anything, but there are a ton of boys that like me! Just because he's more obvious about it—”  
  
“He doesn't respect the fact that you have a _boyfriend_!”  
  
“Because _you_ fly off the freaking handle every time you see him, and he never even does anything!”  
  
Will braked to a hard stop at a red light and turned, furious. “Why are you _defending him_?!”  
  
Bubbles gritted her teeth and screamed, “Because you're acting like a jealous jerk! Which is stupid when you never want to go to karaoke, you never came to my auditions, you'd rather talk with your stupid football friends instead of dance with me at _Prom_ , you forgot our anniversary and lied about making reservations—”  
  
Will was taken aback. “H—how do you know I forgot about our anniversary—”  
  
“ _Because Boomer made the reservations and left them for you_!” she shouted, and it felt so good to let that out, to let all this out. She was so angry and hurt and Will was so stupid, he was so, so stupid!  
  
The person behind them blared their horn, and Will swore as he gassed the car through the now-green light. “You know, ever since you left Cheer you've been acting like this spoiled brat—”  
  
“I have not!”  
  
“And suddenly you're too good for us football guys and girls—”  
  
“The girls stopped talking to me—”  
  
“You don't wanna hang out with me, or us, and you try to drag me along with you and your other friends who I don't even like—”  
  
Bubbles angrily tuned him out and glared out the window, fuming. She didn't know what she was doing with him anymore. In fact, the only boy she'd dated in football that had ever wanted to hang out with her friends had been...  
  
She turned back to Will and interrupted his tirade on her friends. “You know, Mike never had this problem!”  
  
“I'm not your fucking first boyfriend!”  
  
“Then maybe you'll like being my last!” Bubbles shrieked, and threw open the passenger door and flew out as Will sped on. She saw him brake, confused, and before she could change her mind or calm down she took off.  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup edged out of the arcade and onto the sidewalk, hunching over against the cold. She glanced back at her friends and Mitch, gathered around a racing game that the twins were neck and neck on. The evening had been fun and not nearly as painful as she'd first thought, at least once Harry, Lloyd, and Floyd had arrived. There was still the weirdness going on with Mitch, of course. But it felt like there would always be weirdness going on with Mitch, now.  
  
She watched Harry pounding on the back of the plastic seat as the twins raced. Ever since Mitch had told her, she couldn't figure out whether the guys were her friends because they really wanted to be friends, or because they really like-liked her. It was like nobody wanted to be friends, just friends, anymore. Things had gotten so stupid in high school, Mitch and her friends and boys in general, actually...  
  
She stamped her feet and exhaled, watching her breath come up in a little puffy cloud. Geez, this cold in April? Townsville had some weird fucking weather sometimes. She tried to burrow more into her hoodie, reluctant to go back inside.  
  
Suddenly something was draped along her shoulders, and she looked up to see Butch settling back, raising a joint in greeting. She blinked, eyes darting from him to his dress jacket on her shoulders.  
  
“Holy shit,” she said. “What the fuck are you doing here?”  
  
“Ditching Prom,” he said as he exhaled smoke into the air.  
  
She stared at the joint in his hands. “You're pretty bold, smoking that out in the open.”  
  
He shrugged. “You gonna arrest me for it?”  
  
“Pft. I could give less of a fuck.” He offered it to her, and she shook her head. “I don't like the smell.”  
  
“What you got against the way Heaven smells?”  
  
She laughed. “Whatever. Matter of opinion. What happened to Amy?”  
  
“Dunno. She was pretty pissed when I left.”  
  
Buttercup smirked as she tucked into his jacket. “I'll bet. Too much hot bitch to handle?”  
  
“I guess so,” he chuckled. “How was the band?”  
  
“Awesome, man. You missed out on a good show.”  
  
“You get 'em to sign your tits?”  
  
She kicked the back of his knee, causing his balance to buckle. “Fuck you,” she groaned, but she was grinning. “How was Prom?”  
  
“Boring as fuuuuuuuck,” Butch drawled, shifting his weight so he could go back to standing properly. “Damn, the only thing to do is eat and dance and eat while you're sitting and waiting to dance.”  
  
“You didn't go making out with Amy? She's a pretty full-lipped girl, I noticed.”  
  
He started laughing. “You _would_ notice, you dyke.”  
  
“You fucker!” she gasped, punching him in the gut and then in the head. He started laughing and hopping away as she kicked and swore at him.  
  
“Butch?” The two of them looked up to find the boys exiting the arcade. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Floyd asked.  
  
Buttercup backed off, giving Butch enough room to stand. “I heard there was a movie going on,” he said.  
  
“What about Prom?” Lloyd asked.  
  
Butch and Buttercup exchanged a glance. He smirked and tossed his head. “Fuck Prom,” he said. “Let's go.”  
  
The group began to move as one down the sidewalk, the boys expressing their approval at Butch's choice to join them. Buttercup laughed in agreement and stuffed her hands in the pockets, finding a pack of matches in one and a pack of gum in the other. She unwrapped a stick of gum and jammed it into her mouth, catching Butch's attention.  
  
“No way, I want that back,” he said, extending his hand. She spit her gum into it before he could pull his hand away. As the rest of the group recoiled in disgust and laughter, Butch stuck it in his mouth and started chewing it himself.  
  
“Oh, my _God_ , you are disgusting!” Buttercup cried, grabbing Harry to put between them.  
  
“Want it back?” he asked, leaning over Harry and holding the gum out between his teeth.  
  
Harry shoved him off as Buttercup gagged and put Lloyd between her and Harry. “Sick, dude! Don't fucking drop that on me!”  
  
“Disgusting,” Buttercup moaned, grabbing another stick for herself. “You are a sick, disgusting creature, Butch.”  
  
“Thank you!” he declared, making a show of chewing, and Buttercup laughed along with everyone else as they made their way down the street.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom was dashing through the halls on Monday, her expression tight with anger.  
  
 _He's around here, somewhere_ , she thought frantically to herself. _He's here, somewhere, I know it_ —  
  
She skidded to a stop, spotting him walking towards a side entrance, coffee in hand. The next second she had burst through the doors and landed right in front of him, halting his approach. His eyes went cold at the sight of her.  
  
“Oh. Great,” he said, voice rife with sarcasm. “ _My_ morning's off to a good start.”  
  
“Where'd you take Cindy after Prom?” Blossom demanded.  
  
Brick scoffed and shoved past her, reaching for the doors with his free hand. “Why don't you go ask Cindy?”  
  
Blossom kicked the door shut. “She isn't here!”  
  
“Maybe she's sick, genius.”  
  
“No, she isn't!” Blossom cried, pissed off that she had let this happen. She had watched them leave, she had seen Brick kiss her, her, poor Cindy who was so taken with him—  
  
She set her jaw and the muscles in her arms tensed. “You asked her to Prom. You both left early. You were the last person anyone saw her with, then the very next day she calls up one of her friends in _tears_ , and today she isn't even in school!”  
  
“What the fuck does any of this have to do with me?”  
  
“Tell me what you did to her,” she said, voice laced with hatred, and Brick narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Why don't _you_ , Blossom?” He stepped forward and stared her down, his tone echoing hers. “Since you're so intent on solving this little mystery.”  
  
Blossom glowered. What a despicable creature. He didn't care about anyone. He only ever thought about himself, what he wanted, and didn't care a whit who got in his way.  
  
“Go ahead,” he whispered. “Tell me what I did to her.”  
  
She hated him. She hated him so, so much.  
  
“Or maybe you don't have any ideas? Funny, considering that brain of yours.”  
  
“Just tell me,” she forced through her clenched jaw.  
  
He widened his eyes in mock innocence and placed his hands on his chest. “But _I_ have absolutely no idea! I am a paragon of innocence! Really, Blossom, what could you _possibly_ mean?”  
  
“Quit playing around and just admit to it!” she exploded.  
  
The playfulness immediately dropped from his face, and it suddenly darkened—it was unsettling, no human face could do that, _should_ do that—and Brick leaned over her, voice low.  
  
“To _what_ ,” he growled, his eyes flashing as he glared at her.  
  
Blossom had had enough of this. “Admit that you...” She trailed off, unable to summon the words, unable to say it. He was in her face, his gaze drilling into her, and she shouldn't have let it happen, she'd thought Cindy was smarter than that...  
  
She swallowed, trying to keep the movement as small as possible. “Admit that you took advantage of her.”  
  
She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so small when she said it. She was afraid it would hurt her argument, put her on the defensive. To her surprise, Brick backed away with an irritated groan and went on the defensive himself.  
  
“What do _you_ care?” he seethed, chucking his full coffee into the grass. “What the fuck does it matter to you? Do you see me asking _you_ for details? How about what you did with _your_ fucking Prom date, Blossom?”  
  
She stiffened, her expression suddenly trapped and hurt.  
  
“Yeah, like the whole world didn't see you two going after each other that night—”  
  
“ _Shut up_ ,” Blossom hissed, but he was undeterred.  
  
“Put on a real show, didn't you? At least _I_ had the decency to take Cindy somewhere private when I wanted to ram my tongue down her throat—”  
  
Before she knew it Blossom's fist was millimeters from his face. His hand flew up and snatched her by the wrist, halting her blow dead in its tracks. She wished he'd never come back, she wished he'd just go away and leave forever.  
  
He practically threw her hand back at her, and she stumbled back, hissing a breath between her teeth.  
  
“Your turn, Blossom,” he muttered coldly. “Why don't you tell me what _you_ did with Kris?”  
  
“What about me? Hey, is everything okay?”  
  
Blossom and Brick looked up in surprise to find Kris approaching, stuffing his car keys into his pocket. He immediately went up to Blossom and she couldn't help it; she blushed furiously as his hand alighted on her shoulder.  
  
The look on his face was suspicious, concerned. “Is everything okay?” he repeated, briefly glancing at Brick. Kris' hand squeezed her shoulder, and Blossom suddenly felt Brick's eyes drawn to the movement.  
  
“Everything's fine, Kris,” she said, trying to keep her voice light as she smiled at him. “We were just talking.”  
  
Kris didn't look entirely convinced, but he smiled back and said, “Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to butt in.”  
  
Blossom shook her head, avoiding Brick's eyes. “No, you're not interrupting. Actually, would you... mind walking me to my locker?”  
  
“Of course not. Um, see you, Brick,” Kris said carefully, and as they turned his hand drifted down Blossom's arm to hold her hand.  
  
Blossom looked up and took in Brick's stunned expression, reflected in the glass of the door as they approached the entrance. Kris' hand was heavy in hers, and she bit her lip as she let go so he could open the door.  
  
.~.  
  
Brick had been in the training room for nearly four hours before Boomer and Butch shut down the attack simulator and dragged him out. He was drenched; even his cap was soaked with sweat all the way to edge of the brim. They'd asked him What the Fuck and he told them Nothing.  
  
He stared at the tub drain as the shower head sputtered to life, cold arrows of water stinging his scalp before the temperature adjusted warmer. He stood there for a second, taking a deep breath.  
  
He was so fucking sick of this city.  
  
He hadn't touched Cindy. He'd only kissed her. It wasn't like he'd asked her to be his girlfriend. He'd even given her a choice—he'd asked, did she want to go somewhere? He'd manipulated her, sure, but he hadn't arm-twisted her into saying yes. He wasn't interested. He didn't want that. He didn't want her.  
  
He hastily adjusted that last bit. He didn't want anybody.  
  
He hadn't wanted to come back. He hadn't even wanted this fucking vacation. He didn't ask for this, for all this fucking drama, this fucking stupid high school shit, he hadn't wanted any of this—  
  
Brick turned his attention to the foggy glass and started to trace a shape into it, trying to distract himself. One line, another, then another extending this way and another to define the head—  
  
He paused as he realized he was drawing a dancer. He grimaced and swiped his hand over it.  
  
He was so fucking sick of this city. He was so fucking sick of her.  
  
.~.  
  
“It's been three days,” Buttercup announced at the end of the day Tuesday, and Bubbles glanced up from the dinner table where they were doing their homework.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Buttercup rested her chin in her hand and blew her hair out of her face as she doodled in the margins of her book. “Since you and Will broke up.”  
  
Bubbles bit her lip and shrugged. “You remembered.”  
  
“'Three days to get over the crying,' you said.” Buttercup glanced up at her. “'Cept you didn't cry.”  
  
“Neither did you,” Bubbles said, and Buttercup went silent.  
  
It was hard to go back to homework now. Bubbles stared at the questions for their History reading, unable to absorb the words.  
  
“What are you going to do about the other one?” Buttercup suddenly asked.  
  
Bubbles shook her head. “I don't know what you mean.”  
  
“I mean, he's part of the reason you and Will called it quits, right? What are you going to do about Boomer?”  
  
“It's a bit more complicated than that,” Bubbles said, a little defensively. She glared at her sister. “I didn't break up with Will just so I could go out with Boomer.”  
  
Buttercup rolled her eyes. “I didn't say you wanted to go out with him. I was just curious what you're going to do about him liking you.”  
  
“Let him, I guess,” Bubbles sighed. “I mean, yeah, he's nice. But I just broke up with Will, and besides... I don't know if this is true, you know, but... he said they were leaving.”  
  
Buttercup let her pencil drop from her hands, and she pushed her homework out of the way. “He said that, too?”  
  
“Butch told you? Did he say they were leaving?”  
  
“Yeah.” They stared at each other, letting the truth sink in. It weighed heavily on Bubbles' heart, and she sighed.  
  
“So, yeah.” Even if the whole thing with Will had ended, what was the point when Boomer was going to be gone within a matter of weeks? She didn't know where he was going, and a long-distance thing wouldn't work, and beyond that it would just look so petty, snatching up a new boyfriend immediately after breaking up with her last—  
  
“Hey, do you think Blossom knows?” Buttercup asked.  
  
“Think I know what?” Blossom asked, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.  
  
The girls took in her outfit, and Bubbles said, “You're going out with Kris tonight?”  
  
Blossom ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Um, yeah. We're just meeting for dessert and then going to the bookstore. What were you guys talking about?”  
  
“The boys are leaving,” Buttercup clarified.  
  
“Which boys? Who are you—” Blossom's eyes widened, the realization suddenly upon her. “You mean the Rowdyruff Boys?”  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles nodded, eyeing their leader's unreadable expression.  
  
Blossom blinked at them, then closed her eyes and turned away. “Good riddance,” she huffed, and they heard her undoing the locks to the front door. “It's about time.”  
  
.~.  
  
Rehearsal ended early the next day on account of the torrent of rain that had overtaken Townsville. It was as if the April rains had been slacking off all month and finally decided to unleash the entire month's water quota in one fell swoop.  
  
Bubbles paced back and forth underneath the covered area that extended out over the school's main entrance, wishing she'd brought an umbrella. Not that she generally minded getting wet, but she was just not in the mood today—  
  
“You've been ignoring me.”  
  
She looked up to see Boomer beside her, a serious expression on his face as he cradled his umbrella. She shook her head. “I'm not ignoring you.”  
  
“I mean, I've been trying to give you some space. But it's, like, freaking Wednesday now, and I'm kinda getting sick of you not talking to me.”  
  
“We talk in rehearsal.”  
  
“Rehearsal's different. That's practicing lines, not real talking.”  
  
She kept her eyes on the rain, hunching her shoulders up. “I just... Boomer, I haven't been in the right... mood to talk, I dunno.”  
  
He stared at her a long while, then scuffed his shoe against the cement and looked out through the pouring rain. It was letting up now, just a little—they could actually see the other side of the street now.  
  
“You need cheering up?” he finally said, turning back to her.  
  
The smile on her face was a sad little thing. “Here and there.”  
  
“I could do that. Or try to, at least.”  
  
“That's okay.”  
  
“Really—”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Bubbles,” he sighed—  
  
“Hey guys!” A group of five or so students from the musical were coming up, a mass of raincoats and umbrellas.  
  
Kim was among them, and she came up to Bubbles and rested her chin on her shoulder. “You okay?”  
  
“I'm okay,” Bubbles affirmed.  
  
“We're going out for some hot chocolate and other such sundry refreshments,” a Theater student announced. “You guys want to come?”  
  
Boomer had summoned a grin to his face. “I'm game,” he said.  
  
“No, thank you.” Bubbles shook her head.  
  
Boomer looked back at her as Kim frowned. “Really?”  
  
“Really.” Bubbles protested a little more against further vocal urgings, and hung back as they moved out into the rain.  
  
Boomer glanced back one last time as he popped open his umbrella and tailed after them. He stopped and called out, “You really don't wanna come?”  
  
It was too bad the rain wasn't coming down harder; it would've been easier to ignore the openly hopeful look on his face. A couple of students in the group stopped and turned, waiting.  
  
Bubbles shook her head. But Boomer would not go without a fight.  
  
He noted her lack of rain gear and waved his umbrella about. “You can stand under my umbrella,” he offered. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “Ella, ella, eh...”  
  
Everyone else groaned as one and Bubbles gave him a look of absolute disbelief. “ _Boomer_. Do not even.”  
  
“Under my um-ber-ella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh,” he continued, starting to groove a little in the rain with a mischievous grin on his face.  
  
Bubbles giggled against her better judgment and covered her hand with her mouth. “Stop! No. That's how you're going to get me to go?”  
  
A few of the students were playfully shoving him and laughing. He went right on singing the chorus, those blue eyes of his glittering.  
  
Bubbles shook her head and started walking away—the covered area extended out for a few yards along the side of the school. She didn't have anywhere to go beyond that besides home, but she thought it might discourage him to see her leaving. No such luck—she heard the stubborn boy start to follow her and she shot a disapproving look over her shoulder that was ruined by her smile.  
  
“Because!” he hollered, and some members of the group giggled and ran up to join him, Kim included. “When the sun shines, we'll shine together!”  
  
“Oh my _God_ ,” Bubbles laughed. “Not you guys, too!”  
  
“Told you I'll be here forever,” they sang, a couple of the Choir students actually harmonizing.  
  
“I cannot believe this,” Bubbles said, looking skyward.  
  
Before she knew it the entire group was following her as she walked under the covered area, singing to her from the rain. She was approaching a side entrance, and she saw a couple of students exiting right as the group launched into a symphony of, “Ella, ella, eh, eh, eh's.”  
  
“Do not even ask,” she told the bewildered couple as she passed.  
  
Boomer ran ahead into her line of vision. “Now that it's raining more than ever—”  
  
 _He's leaving_ , Bubbles thought to herself.  
  
“Know that we'll still have each other—”  
  
 _You just broke up with Will_ , she thought.  
  
“You can stand under my um-ber-ella,” he sang, offering his umbrella to her as she reached the end of the covered area and they came to a stop.  
  
She looked up at him as he sang more Ella's and Eh's to her, still grinning that stupid, ridiculous grin of his. Whatever protests she came up with in her head sounded hollow and empty. She was already smiling back at him.  
  
She trotted out, the stings of water on her skin brief before she was by his side, and as he turned and led her back to the group, beaming, they halted singing long enough to send up a victorious cheer.  
  
“ _Because_!” she sang over their cheers, and they dove right back into the chorus, Bubbles' voice among them as she walked with Boomer and they smiled at each other.  
  
 _-end Ch. 4-_


	5. He Knows How to Use It, or Lonesome When You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: For mathkid and Juxtaposie, who werk that beta magic like nobody else's business and, in one case, know way more about tennis than I ever will.
> 
> Kudos to xxlonelyxgrlxx (on lj) for catching the error I made with Lynne, who I mistakenly made both the main character's love interest and sister for the zombie musical that Boomer and Bubbles participate in. My sincerest apologies for the oversight! I'll go back and change the name of the love interest sometime soon. xxlonelyxgrlxx rocks hardcore for the catch!
> 
> And while we're on the topic of people who rock hardcore, Hermeown did fanart of Blossom from a particular scene in this chapter. Go check out her devart and leave her lots of lovely comments!
> 
> To all of you reading, thanks for waiting so patiently. I hope this was worth the wait ♥
> 
> 3/20/11 update – Fixed the formatting issues; breaks now appear as they should. Lynne issue has been rectified (love interest is now Melody, sister is Lynne) per xxlonelyxgrlxx's catch.

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Spring Semester  
May – He Knows How to Use It** or **Lonesome When You Go**  
 _-sbj-_

Blossom was flung into the side of a building, hard. Plaster cracked, spilled onto her. She coughed and sped off screen, back towards the monster. Maria Santiago was reporting live from the scene of the attack.

“The battle you see behind me has been raging on for nearly ten minutes, and it looks like the Powerpuff Girls currently have the advantage. As you can see, they have cornered—”

A sudden monster scream cut her off, and the rest of her news crew flinched. Maria barely batted an eyelash and barreled on. She'd been doing this for ten years; she'd had time to acclimate herself to the danger of the job. Frankly, she loved it. She'd take the scene of a monster attack over safe, boring reporting from the news desk any day.

“It won't be long now before they dispose of the creature,” she finished.

“Now Maria,” the voice in her headset said, “do you have any details on how the monster got into the city in the first place?”

“I have yet to confirm this, but as with the previous monster attacks over the past year, it looks like this is due to a lapse in the citywide monster barrier currently being finessed by Professor Utonium, father to the Powerpuff Girls.”

“Can you describe to our viewers the details of that barrier and why this lapse would occur?”

“Certainly, Stan.” Inwardly, Maria rolled her eyes. He'd had her do this for the last six monster attacks; it should've been common knowledge among the citizens by now. Stan was a stickler for keeping the people informed, though—a good quality for a newscaster to have.

“The invisible barrier emits a frequency that, while undetectable to the human ear, repels eighty percent of the monsters Townsville would receive were the barrier not up. The frequency is emitted in pulses but occasionally the barrier experiences lapses resulting in a situation like the one you see behind me. This monster, like the ones that have attacked over the last year, demonstrates significant resiliency, supporting Professor Utonium's theory that those monsters that do push through the barrier are tougher and stronger than your typical class of monster.”

A sudden, earthshaking thud resounded behind her, and Maria instantly whipped on the goggles she had clipped to her belt, turning and covering her mouth as a wave of dust rolled out over them.

The rest of her crew coughed as Maria stepped up to the camera and wiped the lens with her sleeve.

“The monster has been defeated! Let's go see if we can talk to the girls.”

Without waiting for her crew, Maria sprinted down five city blocks in heels, arriving at the scene even before her van. She took the goggles off as her crew pulled up and waved at Blossom as she and her sisters inspected the knocked out monster.

“Blossom! Could we have a word?”

The girl recognized her and quickly flew down, looking immaculate save for a spot of dirt on her cheek. “Maria, hi.”

“Tell us about today's monster attack. Was it a difficult one?” Maria liked talking to Blossom; she was always well-composed and press-ready.

Blossom smiled politely. “Difficult when compared to the past ten years' worth of monster attacks, but when compared to the past year alone, I'd say this one ranks about average.”

“Now, during the attack, what was going through—”

“There!”

“Blossom!”

“Blossom, how're you doin'? There's this rumor...”

Maria and Blossom were suddenly awash in a sea of yammering cameramen, and as the sea spit Maria back out next to her crew, she huffed and grimaced.

“Good-for-nothing paparazzi,” she muttered.

.~.

“Hey Blossom, so what's this I hear about a boyfriend?”

“What?”

“He's cute, right? You guys make a good lookin' couple!”

“How do you know that?!”

“How many dates have you guys gone on?”

“Has he kissed you?”

“ _What_?! What kind of question is—”

“How does he feel about you risking your life to protect him? I mean, what kind of guy is he, letting his girl—”

“Is he comfortable with your celebrity status?”

“Are you both going out tonight?”

“Are you in love with him?”

Brick groaned; he'd had enough. “Butch, turn that God damn thing off.” Maria Santiago appeared in front of the camera—it was on the news, it was her cameraman watching—and she had a look on her face that suggested she was going to have a new cameraman next broadcast.

Butch pouted at him from in front of the TV as they cut back to the newsdesk. “No way. This is great. You see how flustered she's getting? _Hot_.”

Brick glanced at the screen. Apparently they were having a tech issue and hadn't cut off the sound feed. Bubbles had come to help her sister out; he could hear her nattering about school, sidestepping any relationship questions with statements about how cute bunnies were.

“What can _you_ tell us about your sister's new beau, Bubbles?”

Bubbles said blithely, “They do look cute together, but bunnies, now, talk about cute—”

Brick stalked up to the TV and jabbed at the Power button. The screen flickered to black.

“Hey! I was watching that!”

“Go play outside with the rest of the kids,” Brick griped, snatching the remote from his brother's hands as Butch moved to turn it back on.

Butch grumbled to no end on his way out the door. After a minute, Brick turned back to the screen and powered it back on.

They'd solved the sound issue. The newscasters were in between segments, and the woman at the desk said conversationally to Stan, “He _is_ a nice boy. Good student. Good couple. I personally approve.”

Brick turned it off, staring at the blank screen until he heard the phone in his room ring. He dashed in, spotting Mrs. Morbucks' name on the ID.

“Brick, hello,” the woman said as soon as he'd picked up, and without waiting for a greeting. “Listen, I'm currently out of the country, but there are some important matters I'd like to discuss with you when I get back.”

“Is... is that so?” he asked, a little caught off guard.

“Yes. I'm back at the end of the month. Clear your schedule. I'll be in touch.”

.~.

“I hope that never happens to me again,” Blossom groaned, sinking onto her bed.

“It'll be awhile,” Bubbles said as she examined her hair in the vanity. “When I first started going out with Mike they followed us around _everywhere_. It was impossible to find time with each other.”

Blossom laid on her side and curled her knees up to her chest, shooting Buttercup a look as she perched on her own bed. “They didn't give Buttercup such a hard time when she went out with Mitch.”

Before the girl in question could respond, Bubbles cut in. “Yeah, well, _Buttercup_ had to go and rough up a few guys and break several thousand dollars' worth of expensive cameras. They were off her case in a matter of days.”

“I did it in the interest of privacy,” Buttercup added. “They started leaving Bubbles alone. Eventually.”

Blossom raised herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, Bubbles. They stopped bugging you after, what, your third boyfriend? And they haven't even bothered with your breakup.”

“I've been doing this longer than you,” Bubbles said. “You're the last one of us to ever have a boyfriend. Now you suddenly have one. Big news in their world.”

“Their tiny, shallow, scab-of-human-nature world,” Buttercup grumbled, rustling around for a magazine to read.

“How's everything going with Kris, anyway?” Bubbles asked. “I mean, you _do_ keep blushing every time someone asks you about him.”

Blossom blushed and sputtered, “I-I'm just not used to it! Things are, you know, fine and stuff. I guess. I don't know, I don't exactly have a personal frame of reference to base the experience on!”

Bubbles giggled. “Oh my God, Blossom, you are so cute!”

The trill of Bubbles' cell phone rang, and she reached for it, pausing as she read _Boomer_ 's name on the little screen.

She flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Heaven? Could you send an angel my way? Preferably one named Bubbles, I'm pretty particular about these things.”

Bubbles subdued her smile and rolled her eyes, mouthing _Boomer_ at the rest of the room. Blossom frowned. Buttercup lazily flipped a page of her magazine.

“Let me check in the stockroom,” Bubbles said, then held the phone away from her head for a second. “Nope, sorry, fresh out.”

“'Fresh out?' I saw one on TV just ten minutes ago!”

“And what exactly do you need an angel for?” Bubbles asked.

“Company. I'm about to go karaoke with some friends a whole bunch. We need one final piece to make the group complete.” He deepened his voice and rumbled, “Join us, Bubbles.” After a slight pause, he added, “You know, your name really doesn't lend itself to a deep, masculine voice of evil.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Bubbles said, “I suppose I can make an appearance.”

“OMG yes much?”

She laughed. “I'll see you later, Boomer.” She could feel Blossom's eyes on her as she set her phone down and shot her sister a beatific smile.

“I thought you weren't dating,” Blossom said.

“It's not a date,” Bubbles said, examining her makeup. “There will be tons of other people there.”

“Then why are you fussing with your makeup?”

“I need to fix it. We did just finish fighting a monster, like half an hour ago.”

“You fixed it when you got home, and now you're fixing it _again_?”

“I've got, you know, normal day makeup, monster fighting makeup, and going out with friends makeup.”

Blossom groaned and flopped on her other side, facing the wall. “You're so vain.”

“You probably think this song is about you,” Buttercup quipped.

“Anyway, I'll see you guys later,” Bubbles said, flying over to the closet to rummage for a light jacket.

“I don't think you should date him,” Blossom said to the wall.

“I'm not dating him,” Bubbles said in a slow, deliberate voice. “I am just meeting up with him and a bunch of friends. He is a friend. We are just friends.”

Blossom muttered something unintelligible, which Bubbles chose to ignore.

“Bye!”

Blossom and Buttercup grunted as their sister left. Blossom glanced at the clock.

“Oh! I forgot, I'm meeting Kris at the library.”

“You two are, I swear, the most boring couple in the history of _forever_ ,” Buttercup said, setting down her magazine.

“We've got AP exams _and_ finals coming up,” Blossom pointed out. “We need study sessions.” She shot her sister a look. “Actually, I'm pretty sure you'd benefit from having a few yourself.”

“Thank you for your input, Fearless Leader.”

Blossom sighed. “Not my fault if you fail and can't do Athletics next year, Buttercup.”

“Your concern. It touches me.”

“See you.”

Buttercup sat up, listening to the front door slam as Blossom left. She rifled through a few more magazines, bored out of her skull. Finally, after glancing at her sisters' empty beds several times, she extracted her phone from her pocket and dialed.

“What's the shake?” the voice on the other line said.

“Butch, you talk like a dumbass,” Buttercup said. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing. You?”

“Boredom. Feel like a shake?”

“You only want one because I said 'shake' earlier.”

“Did you? Damn you and your subliminal messages.”

“You on your way or what?”

“Already there,” Buttercup said as she sped out the door. “See you in a few.”

.~.

Bubbles flew to school by her lonesome the following morning. Buttercup was taking forever, and Kris had picked Blossom up. Bubbles had done her sister a favor by ushering the Professor out the door before he could bear witness to it.

She spotted Boomer chatting with the friends who had accompanied them last night. His face was bright—he wore bright well—and the morning sun was only adding to the effect. Bubbles smiled.

“That was fun last night,” she called out, catching the group's attention as she crossed the school parking lot to join them.

Boomer turned and brightened even more at the sound of her voice. “Morning! Of course it was fun. If there's anything we do right, it's fun. Also dating. Wanna date?”

“No,” she said stoutly, stepping onto the curb just as a flash of red roared by. Her skirt suddenly whipped up and she shrieked, dropping her books to keep her hair from flying about. Brick swerved into a parking spot and killed his engine.

“Oh, my hair is a _mess_ ,” Bubbles groaned, swiping it out of her face before patting down her skirt. Boomer was fixated on her legs.

“So are your legs. I can help you fix those.”

“Ha. Ha.”

He grinned and dove to help Bubbles with her books before anyone else could offer.

Back over by Brick's parking spot, he jumped out and bumped—literally—into Blossom as she exited Kris' car in the spot right next to Brick.

His hip bumped into hers and they both froze. Neither had enough room to edge out without physical contact occurring unless one of them went back into their car.

Brick scowled. Fuck that.

“Move it,” he growled, and muscled past, practically flattening Blossom against Kris' car as he did so.

“ _Excuse you_ ,” Blossom scoffed, then was suddenly pulled along by her waist. Both she and Brick stopped and looked down to find his keys, half hanging out of his pocket, hooked onto a loose thread of Blossom's jeans. After exchanging a look, they tried to pull away from each other to no avail.

“For fuck's sake,” Brick muttered, reaching to untangle them just as Blossom reached to do the same. Their hands bumped into each other's and oh come on, this was not happening.

“Watch your language,” Blossom snapped.

“Is everything okay?” Kris asked, coming around the front of his car.

Blossom flushed red—an act that did not go unnoticed by Brick—and said, “It's fine, Kris, we're just—just stuck.”

“Get your hands out of my way,” Brick grumbled, and grabbed his keys in one hand and her belt loop in the other (she bit back a yelp and blushed more), snapping the hooked thread and finally freeing them both. Brick shoved his keys completely into his pocket, making the mistake of glancing at Blossom as he did so. Her gaze flickered from Kris to him.

He made a little noise of disgust and turned away, shouldering past Kris as he muttered, “God damn fucking spaces are too God damn fucking small.”

“I can hear you cursing!” Blossom scolded as she joined Kris.

“Oh, good, you listening?” Brick turned and hollered, “Go to fucking hell!”

“What is with that guy?” Kris said, furrowing his brow. “He's been like this ever since Prom. What's wrong with him?”

“Are you kidding? What _isn't_?” Blossom muttered, weaving her arm in Kris' and so, so glad that he was nothing like the jerk that had just ruined her morning. Further down near the school's side entrance, Alicia, the Dance Major, caught her eye and waved.

“I got news for you!” Alicia hollered.

Blossom laughed nervously, then adopted a more panicked expression and said, as if realizing something, “The Induction Dance...”

Kris glanced at her. “What was that?”

“Uh, nothing... just... remembered something...” Blossom said, her gaze fixed furtively on Alicia. She grasped Kris' arm and quickened her pace as her Dance Major began to move in their direction. “Come on, Kris!”

They passed by Boomer and Bubbles just as he handed her the last of her books.

“There,” Boomer said proudly.

“Thank you,” Bubbles said.

“You're welcome. Does that mean I've earned a date now?”

“Boomer—” Bubbles started, then paused, glancing over his shoulder. Boomer turned to see Will and his group entering the school. A tense moment passed, but Will resumed walking without so much as a look in their direction. Bubbles bit her lip, clenching her books to her chest as she shuffled to the side and a little away from Boomer.

As he passed Boomer, Will muttered, “Asshole.”

“Douchebag,” Boomer chirped back. The rest of Will's group was silent as they passed by.

“Wait, are we giving each other nicknames now?!” Butch touched down beside them. He clapped a hand on Boomer's shoulder. “Morning, Fuckface!”

Boomer considered. “I think I preferred Asshole.”

“Those aren't very nice words,” Bubbles pouted.

Butch's eyes lit up. “Don't worry about it, Pri— _OWF_!”

Boomer had punched Butch in the mouth. “Oops. Hand slipped.”

“I was going to say 'Princess,' you ass! What the hell?!”

“Morning,” Buttercup yawned as she landed.

“Hey,” Bubbles and Boomer greeted. Butch got that mischievous look in his eyes again.

“Morning, Shithead,” he said, grinning.

Buttercup punched him in the face. “Fuck you, Pencildick.”

Boomer clapped politely as Buttercup shoved her friend aside. “I think Shithead wins that one.”

“Were we keeping score?” Buttercup asked, bored. The four of them shuffled into school and split off into twos, Butch with Buttercup and Boomer with Bubbles.

Again, Bubbles and Boomer passed by Will and his group, who issued them both several Death Glares as they walked by. One of the girls muttered something under her breath that Bubbles didn't catch, but Boomer did, and he whirled on her, taut with anger.

Bubbles grabbed his arm and pulled him along.

“Did you hear that?” he hissed, still glaring over his shoulder.

Bubbles sighed. She didn't handle being disliked well.

“I don't know what I ever saw in him,” she muttered sadly, ignoring Boomer's question. He glanced at her. “If this is the kind of person he is now... I mean, how could I not have noticed that before? Like a year ago?”

“Cheer up,” Boomer said, bumping his shoulder into hers. “He blinded you with science. Um, football science.” He started to hum Springsteen's _Blinded by the Light_. “Blinded by the football science...”

She stifled a giggle and gave him a look. “You're so silly, I swear!”

“Aw, I thought I was being clever. I jammed two song references into one line, come on!”

Bubbles smiled at him, feeling a little melancholy. After some consideration, she said softly, “I'm going to miss you when you're gone.”

“Of course you will,” Boomer said without skipping a beat. “I'm awesome. And very date-worthy, did I mention?”

“We should do something—all of us, I mean. Before you guys go. Hey, have you ever been to the beach?”

He fake-gasped. “You're _kidding_. There's only one?”

She ignored that and continued, “Let's go to the beach! Next month, once school lets out. And we're done with the musical. You know.”

Boomer grinned. “Whatever you say. It's a date.”

“It's a beach party,” she clarified.

“It's a date involving multiple people in swimsuits. Gotcha.”

They continued their friendly bickering all the way into dance rehearsal, at least until Blossom got after them.

“Pay attention, you guys, honestly! You're in the main cast, you ought to be getting _some_ of this right!”

Bubbles and Boomer adopted sheepish expressions as they, along with a slew of other students in the musical, blocked out their moves with Blossom in the studio. They ran through the big dance number a couple of times with no interruptions, which put Blossom in a much better mood.

“You guys in the back need to be hitting it harder—here, let's do it again. Can you see me? Let me move...” Blossom edged to the left and led the room once more into the routine.

When her sister wasn't looking, Bubbles said in a low hiss of a voice, “I can't believe the musical's at the end of the month.”

“You nervous?” Boomer muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“Not yet. I probably will be on performance night. But I was talking about how fast everything went.” After a pause, she added, “It's been an eventful semester.”

“Good eventful or bad eventful?”

She glanced at him. “A little of both.”

They finished their routine and Blossom checked her watch. “Okay, that was pretty good. Did you guys want to try that out with singing, or practice another piece...?”

“Can we take five first?” Boomer suggested, and several students voiced their agreement.

“More like three,” Blossom said. “But sure, take five. After that we'll have just enough time to do one more thing—”

“Some of us can skip Choir to practice,” Bubbles said as a number of students began to disperse and chat. “I mean, unless you have something to do in Dance, Blossom.”

Blossom considered. “I could spare some time.”

Boomer tapped Bubbles. “I'm going to grab something from the machines. You want anything?”

“No, thanks.”

As he darted out the door Blossom came up and scolded gently, “More than practicing, though, you ought to be studying for exams.”

Bubbles immediately pouted and huffed, “I study.”

“You've been at every early morning rehearsal and afternoon rehearsal,” Blossom said flatly. “And I've seen you practicing during lunch, too. And at home. This studying you're talking about—when exactly is it happening?”

“Whenever you're not looking,” Bubbles said with confidence, then turned. “I'm going to go get a drink of water real quick.”

“Don't avoid the subject! Study some after rehearsal!”

Bubbles stepped out of the studio, waving at several people who greeted her as she passed through the dance locker room. She rounded the corner into the hall and stopped for a drink at the fountain. When she was finished, she heard it—a tiny clatter, then something that sounded suspiciously like a laser...

Tensing, she tried to figure out where it was coming from—the other locker room. The cheerleaders' locker room. She frowned and floated over to the door, muscles at the ready just in case—

Boomer suddenly whipped around the doorframe and she yelped, grabbing his collar on reflex.

After a moment she sighed. “Geez, you scared me!”

He glanced at her fist, drawn back and ready to strike. “Speak for yourself.”

She let go and laughed, then paused. “What... what were you doing? I thought you were going to the machines.”

“Got lost,” he responded.

“In the cheerleaders' locker room?”

He pouted. “You caught me. I was peeking. If it makes you feel better, though, it was empty.”

She stared at him a moment longer. “Shame on you,” she finally said. “Come on. Let's get back before Blossom skins us alive.”

Boomer flew ahead of her, and she glanced back at the door he'd emerged from, her frown returning.

.~.

Dance rehearsal was interrupted by a chorus of screams echoing in the hall outside. Everybody halted, and Blossom zipped to the door to investigate just as a group of shrieking girls appeared.

“Girls, calm down!” Blossom shouted. “What's wrong?! What happened?!”

They were cheerleaders; Bubbles recognized them from the squad. Ashley, sporting a very fashionable hairstyle—really, her hair was growing out quite nicely—spotted her, and pointed an accusatory finger.

“ _You_!”

Bubbles blinked. “What?”

Ashley stalked up to her, flanked by several other cheerleaders. “It was you, wasn't it?! Just because you broke up with Will!”

“I don't know what you're talking about—”

“I don't buy your stupid innocent act for a second! You ditched us, you ditched Will, and now you've gone and ruined them—”

“Ruined _what_?!” Bubbles cried.

“ _Our new uniforms for Internationals_!” Ashley shrieked.

Bubbles gaped at her, horrified on behalf of the entire squad. “What happened? What do you mean?”

“Stop playing dumb! You were one of us, you _knew_ we were getting new uniforms in time for Internationals! You knew they were coming this month! And then you pull this stupid stunt, all because you got pissed off with Will—”

Bubbles' heart plummeted. _Boomer_.

“Calm down!” Blossom urged, appearing at her sister's side. “What happened to the uniforms?”

“They're completely _shredded_!” Ashley screeched. “The boxes they arrived in were fine, but when we opened them up it was nothing but, but _pieces_ of uniform!”

“And you're accusing Bubbles of doing this?”

“Yes!”

Blossom's gaze had gone stony and cold. “Why?” she said flatly.

“Because she knew they were coming—”

“Bubbles has been here in practice the entire time,” Blossom interrupted. “And besides that, she wouldn't sabotage you for such petty, stupid reasons—”

“You all think she's so friggin' innocent!” Ashley exploded. “She isn't! She played Will! He was her boyfriend and she kept hanging out with _this_ jerk—”

Ashley's finger went in Boomer's direction, and he dashed in front of Bubbles and shouted, “ _That's no fucking reason to call her a slut_!”

Bubbles' eyes widened at the realization. _This morning_. Boomer had looked so angry. No wonder. Bubbles felt as if someone had cut her open and knifed her in the heart.

Blossom turned on the girls and screamed, “You called my sister _what_?!”

Ashley was looking at Boomer, revelation in her eyes. “You! You did it!”

“What, wrecked your stupid costumes?! What the hell do I care? Why would I even waste my time on bitches like you?!”

Bubbles grabbed Boomer's arm and yanked him back. “Don't call them that!” she ordered.

“ _They deserve it_!” he snapped, not looking at her. “You know what? Fine! I'll take credit for ruining your stupid costumes! It'd be a fucking _honor_!”

“And stop cursing!” Bubbles screamed, trying to bite back the truth—it was him, she'd seen him, he'd done it—

Ashley and the girls were screaming, and so was Boomer, and Blossom finally shoved him back and shouted at them, “Nobody who calls my sister a slut is a capable judge of character! She's not a slut, and she didn't ruin your uniforms! You've got over twenty witnesses here who can attest to it! We were and still are rehearsing, and just because you're upset doesn't mean you can interrupt us! Now _get out of my studio_!”

In a harried pink flash, Blossom had shut the door, and the cheerleaders were gone. She took a deep, furious breath, then looked at Bubbles.

“Did you do it?” she asked, eyes doubting. “You went to get a drink of water.”

“I didn't,” Bubbles croaked, making an effort not to look at Boomer.

Blossom's eyes immediately went to him. “Did you?” she said, icicles practically dripping off her words.

Bubbles glanced at him. His expression was serious, his voice level as he said, “No.”

They resumed practice as best they could, Boomer's lie ringing in Bubbles' head.

.~.

Blossom walked into Calculus not long after the bell for the passing period had rung. Brick was already seated at his desk, and they both made a point of ignoring each other as she took her seat across the room.

“Blossom!”

A few of the students looked up—Brick and Blossom included—to see the Company officers coming in. Blossom paled as they approached, too overcome with dread to notice Cindy glancing at a neutral Brick.

“H-Hey, guys,” Blossom stammered, bracing her hands against the edge of her desk for support.

“Girl, you are _not_ getting outta this,” Alicia scolded, arms crossed.

Blossom persisted. “Class is going to start in three minutes—”

“We'll take two,” Alicia said.

“Guys, can't this wait till after practice today—”

“All of us have exams coming up, so half of us are skipping dance practices left and right to study as it is. Now's as good a time as any.”

Mel leaned over Alicia's shoulder and added, “It's inevitable, Blossom. You can't stop it from happening.”

Blossom's shoulders slumped and she sighed. “Okay...” she mumbled, looking up at Alicia. “What's next year's Officer Induction Dance going to be?”

Alicia grinned. “Cheer up. You'll make a fine Major.”

“I'm definitely earning it,” Blossom muttered.

“And you'll own the dance, of course.”

Mel was bouncing up and down, giddy with anticipation. She couldn't hold it in anymore. “It's _burlesque_ -themed!”

If worse words had ever been spoken to her, Blossom was having serious trouble remembering them at the moment. She gaped at the girls, mortified as her eyes swept the room, taking in the very interested male portion of the class.

She regained her senses and hissed, “Absolutely not! You guys _know_ how I feel about that, and besides, that is beyond inappropriate! My father is going to see this, for crying out loud!” Out of the corner of her eye she could see Brick fidget with his pencil before setting it firmly down.

“It's just _themed_ , it's not like an actual burlesque show,” Alicia comforted, shooting Mel a harsh look. “Look, your music's going to be Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend—the Moulin Rouge one, not the Monroe one—”

“The latter of which is vastly superior to the former,” Blossom muttered.

“—And you're doing like the Satine thing, except... without the ridiculous swing and whatever.”

Blossom wondered if she looked as sick as she felt. “You know how they dress in burlesque shows.”

“You'll be totally covered.”

Mel nodded. “We know you have that, you know, nothing above the ankles or past the elbows thing going on.”

“Don't exaggerate,” Blossom said defensively.

“Seriously,” Mel went on, “it's no more than what you expose when you're wearing a swimsuit.”

This inspired a fresh round of horrified gaping from Blossom.

“Mel, you should probably stop talking,” Alicia said tersely.

“That's a lot!” Blossom cried.

“And the dancing isn't going to be risqué. Alicia's doing you proud in that department.”

Mel's attempt to comfort her fell on deaf ears. Blossom still felt sick. Sicker, even. Evidently it showed—in the next instant, the girls went motherly.

“Oh, Blossom, don't worry about it!”

“It'll be fun!”

“You'll do awesome.”

“You'll _look_ awesome,” a male voice chimed in.

“Who said that?!” Blossom squeaked abruptly and with no small amount of indignant anger.

“And you can totally give me feedback while we're working on it over the summer,” Alicia said.

Cindy, who'd been quiet throughout the whole exchange, tugged at her fellow officers. “Hey, the bell's about to ring.”

The girls bid their goodbyes, sprinkling more assurances in there. Blossom managed a weak smile at them, which faded when she saw Cindy slow as she passed Brick's desk.

Brick, meanwhile, had been listening rather intently throughout the whole thing. He hadn't meant to. But it wasn't exactly every day that the word _burlesque_ came up, particularly with regard to Blossom...

He realized someone was at his desk. Cindy. He glanced up at her.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

“Hey,” he said. She scurried out the door. Brick felt Blossom's heavy gaze bearing down on him. He looked at her.

She had full, pout-able lips, that when coated in red lipstick would stand out in perfect contrast to her fair skin. That red hair of hers, too—it'd just add to the effect, especially when she'd have all the lights on her at the performance. God, the performance. He was going to miss it. Based on the image in his head, it was going to be a damn shame, too.

The bell rang, interrupting his thoughts and their staring contest, and as the teacher brought class to attention Brick buried his eyes in his paper and scowled.

He'd miss it. So what? It wasn't like he gave a fuck either way.

.~.

“I know it was you.”

Boomer glanced at Bubbles as they sat together at lunch, waiting for their friends to arrive.

“Huh?”

Bubbles looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then directed her gaze at him. “I was there, Boomer. You ruined the uniforms, didn't you?”

He shrugged. “So?”

His immediate admittance and nonchalance caught her off guard; she'd expected at least a twinge of guilt, but there was no remorse in those friendly blue eyes. Funny how his response lessened the whole “friendly” effect. It reminded her of a five-year-old boy who'd kicked her around, beat her up because he'd had nothing better to do.

Her face fell. “Why did you do that?”

“They called you a bad name.”

She felt a little sting. She hadn't heard it, but she gathered it was probably true. She pushed past her hurt feelings and said, “You shouldn't have done it.”

“I wasn't about to let them get away with that.”

“It was only one girl! But what you did, it affected the entire squad! Internationals is a big deal, Boomer, we were so excited about those uniforms coming in—”

“ _They_ were, not you. You're not on the squad anymore.”

“But I would be, if it hadn't been—”

She caught herself and stopped as he looked at her. She'd dropped Cheer because she'd been asked to watch the boys. She'd dropped Cheer because of him.

“I was looking forward to it when I was on,” she said softly. “Besides that, I asked you not to hurt other people in my name, didn't I?”

“I didn't hurt anybody, I hurt _things_. They still have their old uniforms. They can use those. It's not like me destroying their uniforms is forcing them to go to Internationals naked!”

Bubbles groaned. “Boomer, that's not the point!”

“They shouldn't have called you a slut!”

She covered her face. “Could you please not say that out loud?”

“I'm not going to let anyone get away with calling you names, especially names you don't deserve,” he said in a voice too serious for him, a voice that didn't suit him.

She lowered her hands and stared at the table, unable to meet his eyes.

“I did it because I care about you,” he said, and she closed her eyes and sighed.

“If you really cared about me,” she said slowly, “you'd know I wouldn't want you to do something like that in the first place.”

She wasn't hungry, not in the least. She wasn't feeling social now, either, and could sense their friends approaching. She couldn't deal with this right now.

“I'm going to go study for my exams,” she said quietly, and left without a glance in Boomer's direction.

.~.

They were now a week into finals and Blossom was exercising some serious time management skills. With musical rehearsals piled on top of her regular dance practices, not to mention studying for her APs and final exams, Blossom was barely finding time to go out with Kris that didn't involve him waiting for her during rehearsals or studying together. He himself had a bunch of StuCo meetings going on, what with electing new officers for the next school year.

Next year. He'd be gone next year. Blossom didn't know how that was going to work out, _if_ it was going to work out. When she thought about it, she didn't really expect them to stay together for her Senior year. Kris was a sweet guy, and a really great boyfriend, but...

Well, no matter. They were teenagers. It wasn't like they were going to get married or anything. It wasn't forever. They were only in high school, after all. They had a good time together, and it wasn't like dating just felt like another responsibility to Blossom—she'd been afraid that would happen, at first, and then had been surprised at how genuinely pleasant it was to go out with a nice boy like Kris. She was enjoying herself, despite the knowledge that he wouldn't be around next year.

Among others.

Blossom frowned as the thought crept into her mind early one morning on her way to school. Inevitably, every time she thought about Kris she thought about Brick. The revelation that the Rowdyruff Boys were leaving had confused her at first. She should've felt instant relief, but instead she'd felt an odd... something. Further reflection revealed that despite their animosity towards each other, she'd actually gotten used to the bickering.

The thought that she'd “gotten used” to someone like Brick was a little disheartening.

_I wonder where he's going_ , she mused as she made her way up the steps of Townsville High. She should've looked into that. She'd meant to. What had distracted her?

Her mind was suddenly flooded with memories of dancing with him, the suit he'd worn to Prom, the weight of his hand on her waist.

She shook her head vigorously, her steps echoing in the halls of the mostly empty school. Chalk that up to hormones. No matter how much she prided herself on maturity, it was only natural for a teenage girl to get swept up in the... physicality of things.

_I'm relieved he's leaving_ , she thought earnestly to herself. _No more fighting, no more dancing, no more glaring or competition or general unpleasantness in my day-to-day life—_

She stopped as she approached her locker, catching sight of Kris waiting for her there. He smiled and waved.

“Morning,” he said as she came up.

“Hey,” she said in mild surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He hunched his shoulders up and blushed. “Um, waiting for you.”

Blossom felt the expression on her face melt, and she sheepishly reached to open her locker. “Oh, Kris!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughed, holding her door open for her as she arranged her books.

“You're very sweet,” she told him. “Okay, I'm done. You can shut it.”

He did so and they started walking—where, Blossom didn't know. She just kind of started moving and Kris fell into step beside her. They walked in silence for a bit until she got uncomfortable about it and paused to examine an advertisement for the musical on somebody's locker. There was a note scribbled on the ad to Boomer— _This must be his locker,_ Blossom realized—about the start time for this Friday's rehearsal being pushed back.

“Is that supposed to be a zombie chorus line? Because that xerox doesn't read at all,” she said, and Kris looked.

“No, not really.”

Silence settled over them again, and they stood there for a second, looking at each other. He bit his lip and tapped his fingers on the set of lockers they'd stopped by, and she cocked her head in curiosity. Suddenly he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers—a quick little peck, nothing to write home about. But by the time he pulled away she was as red as he was.

“W-what was that for?” she stammered.

He held her gaze for a moment, then looked down and, with his voice getting progressively softer with each word, said, “I... I just thought you looked really pretty...”

Blossom's face melted again and she smiled, resisting the urge to go, “Awww!” Kris was so nice and so sweet.

She pressed a hand to her warm chest and leaned forward herself, intending to reward him with a little kiss of her own—just on the cheek, she wasn't _that_ bold yet—

“Excuse me,” Brick's voice said suddenly, a bitter edge to it, and she and Kris jumped, faces scarlet. Blossom felt her chest explode into rapid fire palpitations as she turned to Brick, but at least she had the sense to summon a little attitude.

“'Excuse you,' what?” she demanded, glaring at him for sneaking up on them, for interrupting them the way he had _on purpose—_

Brick narrowed his eyes at her and extended his arm, the metal popping as he placed a hand against the locker door right next to Blossom's head. She tensed, keenly feeling the proximity of his body, his arm cutting off her view of Kris.

“Excuse me,” he repeated, his voice echoing like a shudder in her chest and dripping with fake cordiality, “I need to get to my locker.”

She blinked, then stepped aside, watching as he slid his hand over to the combo she'd been concealing and twisted the dial.

“Come on, Blossom,” Kris said, and she felt his hand grasp hers. It took her a second to remember to grasp back.

As they turned and walked away, she heard Brick open, rustle, then shut his locker door. Then—

“Blossom.”

She halted abruptly, gripping Kris' hand to remind herself not to let go. She swiveled her head round to look at Brick, his gaze level and eyes hard.

“Yes?” she ventured.

“What exams are you taking?”

She clenched Kris' hand. “Why do you want to know?”

“So I know which ones to exempt myself from,” he said, and she scowled in disgust and jerked away.

“Let's go, Kris,” she muttered as she dragged her bewildered boyfriend along.

Brick was such a jerk. Such an egotistical, stupid jerk.

.~.

This was more or less Bubbles' and Boomer's first fight as friends.

The whole confrontation at lunch had happened over a week ago, and they hadn't really spoken since. Or, well, maybe Boomer kinda had. Sort of. He'd tried to, anyway, but any time Bubbles saw him coming she turned away and fled. He was persistent, but by the end of last week he'd taken to just staring and staring at her.

The one place she couldn't avoid him was rehearsal, unless she avoided rehearsal altogether. Which she'd done. She'd only made one practice for the musical last week, citing exams as an excuse, but it had gotten to the point where she absolutely could not miss today's or she'd totally fall behind.

Boomer, in the meantime, had recently taken to sitting with a different group at lunch. She'd seen him with Haley for most of last week, and had tried not to feel angry or like it was a loss, and had failed.

She realized she wanted him to apologize, but wasn't giving him the opportunity to since she kept running away or ignoring him. She then realized that she didn't think he'd really learned his lesson yet, and this whole silent treatment thing was her punishing him.

She wasn't sure what he had to do to make her feel better about the whole thing. She wasn't sure what he _could_ do. Especially since, instead of apologizing, he'd run off to hang out with Haley, and seemed to be waiting for Bubbles to get over her anger. Which she wouldn't do. If anything, this whole miserable ordeal—and she _was_ miserable, she could say that much beyond the shadow of a doubt—was proving that Boomer's feelings for her weren't as genuine as he'd repeatedly suggested. She had been right to hesitate in the beginning. She was right to avoid him now.

She was angry and hurt and miserable, and it was all his fault.

As she stewed in her anger and hurting and misery, Mary broke her concentration.

“I'm freaking.”

Bubbles and Kim looked at Mary as they made their way down to the music hall to rehearse, Bubbles having gotten permission to ditch Art in the interest of somewhat art-related performance.

“About finals?”

Mary nodded, her expression grim. “I've barely studied! I stupidly signed up for two AP exams—”

“But that means you don't have to take the regular finals for those classes,” Kim soothed. “Plus, you know. College.”

“But it doesn't change the fact that I have to take exams in the first place,” Mary moaned.

Kim and Bubbles exchanged a glance. “Well, maybe we should have a study session?” Kim suggested. “Bubbles, what exams are you taking?”

Bubbles' shoulders slumped; for all that she'd been skipping practice she hadn't studied enough either. She was pretty sure she'd completely bombed the History final. Blossom was totally going to get on her case about it.

“I've already done History, which, you know, don't even bother asking about. I mean, there's Choir, but that's easy. Then there's Algebra II, English...” She sighed. Listing them out was a sobering reminder of the work she had ahead of her. “And Chemistry, too. I've also got a Gym final, but I got an A in that class so I can exempt the exam. It would be easy, anyway.” After a moment, she added, “Now _I'm_ depressed.”

“Aren't you taking two APs, too?” Kim said, her brow furrowing.

“Oh! Yeah, I am.”

“But you're not in any AP classes, I thought,” Mary said.

Bubbles hunched into herself a little sheepishly. “Um, I'm taking the APs for Spanish and French—”

Kim and Mary _Aaaah_ ed simultaneously.

“Well, that's like, barely taking a test for _you_ ,” Kim said. “Little Miss Rosetta Stone.”

“Hush,” Bubbles said, laughing. They were approaching the doors to the music hall, and Bubbles stepped ahead of them to open the doors. “I mean, I'm still out a little, since I had to pay for the tests—”

She cut off, catching sight of Boomer and Haley at the other end of the hall. They'd frozen mid-conversation and had looks on their faces akin to trapped animals.

Bubbles felt numb as she looked at him.

She felt Kim at her elbow suddenly, and her friend grasped her arm and tugged her along, Mary trailing them. They'd asked her what was going on with her and Boomer, but when she'd been unresponsive, they'd just sided with her, no questions asked. Bubbles was thankful for them. Unlike Boomer, they were good people, and better friends.

“Be strong,” Kim muttered out of the side of her mouth, then beamed at Boomer and Haley as they passed. “Hey, guys.”

Haley, who'd shuffled a little further from Boomer, held up a hand in greeting. She had an odd expression on her face as she met Bubbles' eyes.

_Maybe it's guilt_ , Bubbles thought bitterly.

“Hey,” Boomer said, and she blinked.

She bit her lip against the instinct to respond and turned away as her friends led her into the choir room.

.~.

“Man,” Butch groaned, “I can't believe you can't exempt unless you've got an A in a class! I could've sworn I got an A in _something_!”

Buttercup snorted. “You? Are you joking? I don't think I've seen you get an A on a single _paper_.”

It was their free block after lunch, and per Buttercup's suggestion—she had to go sign up for next semester's athletics—they were making their way to the football field. On the way they had to pass by the gym, where a couple of teachers stood as silent sentinels to make sure nobody would interrupt the AP testing.

“What idiot would volunteer to take _more_ exams on top of their regular finals?” Butch scoffed.

“Idiots like my sister,” Buttercup pointed out. “But some of those guys in there get to exempt regular finals because _they_ actually make A's in class, genius. Plus, you know. College.”

“What the hell are we going out to the football field for, anyway?” Butch asked as they stepped outside. The sun flared in their eyes, and he raised an arm to shade himself. “Don't you just, like, sign up in the office or something?”

There was a smug, secretive sneer on Buttercup's face. “Generally, yeah, your average student does.”

As they approached the field, Butch could see a number of teachers—no, coaches—standing around, along with some students from the football team. No, wait, some were from baseball. And lacrosse. And basketball? And...

“What the hell is this?” he said, gawking at the people cradling tennis rackets and golf clubs. “Why aren't you just signing up in the office?!”

Buttercup's face demonstrated nothing beyond pure delight at Butch's perplexed reaction. “Because I'm not your average student.”

Butch watched, dumbfounded, as the crowd of Athletics folks caught sight of her and ordered themselves into their respective groups. He hung back at the edge of the field, watching as she strolled from group to group, talking to each coach individually for a period of time. The look on her face was a far cry from the smugness she'd sported when talking to Butch; now it was serious and intense as she listened to each coach try to sell her on which team to join. It wasn't anything like a simple sign up for next year's Athletics. This was a series of freaking interviews.

She shook her head at a few of them, and soon Butch was flanked by the football, golf, baseball, and lacrosse teams. Track and field were on their way over, leaving only volleyball, basketball, and tennis.

“Turn you down cold, huh?” he said conversationally to the football coach. “I'd have been sure she'd pick you.”

“She did football her Freshman year,” the coach said, a wistful look on his face. “She said football wasn't 'active' enough for her.”

“She did lacrosse Sophomore year,” one of the members on the lacrosse team added. “She was _awesome_. I was really hoping she'd pick us again.”

“Are there any teams here she hasn't been on?” Butch asked.

“She hasn't done golf,” the football coach said, and Butch turned his eyes on a dejected golf coach.

“Dude, what are you even _doing_ here?” Butch said in disbelief.

“You never know unless you try,” he mumbled. He obviously hadn't taken the rejection well.

Butch tossed his head at the track and field coach. “What about you?”

“Freshman and Sophomore year.” The coach glanced back and frowned. “I can't believe she kicked us out before _tennis_.”

“She was on the baseball team her Sophomore year, too,” the baseball coach added.

Butch watched Buttercup as she wavered between the three remaining coaches. If he'd been keeping track correctly, she'd done three different athletics in her Sophomore year—lacrosse, track and field, and baseball. There was no reason she couldn't do that with the three remaining, but... tennis? Really? It didn't seem her type of thing at all...

He floated onto the field and hovered just behind her as she studied each coach, evidently internally weighing her options.

After a moment, he said, “I think I know what you're going to pick.”

She looked at him. “What?”

“Not tennis.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned back. The tennis coach grinned hopefully at her. “I don't know. I've never done tennis before; it might be interesting.”

“I got a pretty good feeling you haven't done golf before either, and you sent that guy home in five seconds.”

She gave him a look. “Dude. _Golf_. I don't even know what they're _doing_ here.”

Butch stared at the two tennis students who flanked their coach, rackets in hand. “You never done tennis before, you said?”

“I said.”

“I'll play you.”

.~.

Butch had never played tennis before, either. Well, not really. He'd flipped it on occasionally, on TV, and played maybe a video game version of it for five seconds before boring himself to tears, so he had a basic understanding of the rules (and how best to break them). A few of the field agents back home liked to play, too, and had tried to teach him, but he hadn't been interested.

He bounced a tennis ball with the racket he'd borrowed from one of the students. They and the coach were running through the basic rules for Buttercup on her side of the court—since neither she or Butch had touched a racket before, the coach had suggested they play for two bounces, instead of a full-fledged match. Buttercup swung the racket experimentally, then brought it close to inspect the strings.

“Come on, you pussy!” he called out, and she glared. “I don't got all day!”

“No powers, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, bouncing the ball and watching the court clear for their game.

“You guys want to do a practice rally?” the coach asked.

“No,” Butch said immediately.

Buttercup waved it off, bouncing lightly on her feet just inside the service area. “It's okay. I'll get the hang of it, and then I'm gonna _kick this guy's ass_!”

“You done talking? Are you ready yet?”

“Hurry up and serve—”

A little yellow blur suddenly whipped by her and bounced off the court with a sickening crack. Buttercup stared at it, gaping.

“Fifteen-love!” the coach called out.

“Whoo!” Butch hollered, triumphant. “Fuck yeah! Who loves you?!” He thrust his racket in Buttercup's direction and sneered. “ _That_ loved you,” he said, pointing at the ball one of the tennis students was retrieving. He was tossed another, and he bounced it a couple of times before holding it up for Buttercup to see.”You paying attention? This is what loves you!”

“Shut the fuck up and serve!” Buttercup snapped, irritated as hell.

The tennis coach turned to the basketball and volleyball coaches and whispered, “Does she cuss like this all the time?” to which they so vigorously nodded that their shoulders practically shook with the effort.

Butch bounced the ball again. “It's gonna come by and try to give you a little kiss, alright?”

“Serve it!”

“So don't be scared, Buttercup—”

“ _Serve!”_

The ball went flying across the court again, but this time Buttercup returned it with a vengeance. Butch was quicker, though, and within a matter of minutes the first game was his, without Buttercup having made a single point.

“Forty-love, Buttercup!” Butch jeered. “Who loves you, again?”

“You're asking for it, asshole,” she said dangerously. “My serve.”

Buttercup handled the ball much better in the second game, pulling ahead of Butch at first, but he bounced back—

“Deuce!” the coach called out.

“Not bad,” Butch said. “For a broad.”

She didn't respond, at least not verbally, and he relished the anger that flared in those green eyes.

She made to serve the fuck out of it, but then just barely tapped the thing, and Butch swore as he scrambled up and missed the opportunity to return it.

“Ad in!”

“That's right, bitch!” Buttercup cheered. “Take it!”

Things continued on in this vein, with the advantage bouncing back and forth between the both of them and an intense rally somewhere in the middle of it all, before Buttercup took the game. True to form, more trash talk immediately ensued, and with the two of them bickering in the background, the coaches turned to each other. The tennis coach looked a little concerned.

“They're... er, very... rambunctious.”

“Eat me!”

“Suck my cock!”

“That guy's leaving at the end of the semester,” one of the students hastily reassured his coach.

.~.

This was the only time Bubbles permitted conversation between her and Boomer: in rehearsal.

“Romero, I don't think this is a good idea,” Bubbles whispered.

“You worry too much, sis. You've always worried too much.” Boomer looked across the would-be stage, eyes gleaming. “That guy's toast.”

“You don't even know if she'll take you back!”

He looked back at her, the faintest hint of heartbreak in his eyes. “She has to.”

Bubbles slumped and reached for him, shaking her head. “Romero...”

“Of course, if it doesn't work out, I can always come back and go all twisty and marry my sister, Lynne, instead—”

The room groaned and Bubbles made a noise of disgust before turning and stalking a few feet away, fuming.

“I'm sorry, guys,” Boomer said, laughing. “Come back, Bubbles, let's keep going—”

“Do you even _know_ your lines?” she said, forgetting that she wasn't supposed to be talking to him and making no effort to mask her anger.

He didn't pick up on it. “Of course! Really, I do—”

“Then are you going to start taking this seriously or what?” she snapped, whipping around to face him. An unsettling silence pervaded the room at the look on Bubbles' face.

Boomer blinked, but summoned a smile nonetheless. “For you, anything.”

“Then _cut that out_!” she said angrily, and his smile faltered. “Quit flirting and screwing around! You're wasting _my_ time, you're wasting everyone else's time, and yet you do it at every single practice! We're performing in less than _two weeks_! If I'd known all you were going to do was ruin rehearsal with all your stupid comments, then I never would've encouraged you to keep the role in the first place!”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. Boomer seemed a little stung and her heart sank a bit at the sight of him, but there was too much hurt anger in her to allow for any sympathy.

“Bubbles, chill—”

“I do not need you to tell me to 'chill,' and I do not need you to apologize. Just do something _right_ , for a change,” she said viciously.

A few gasps echoed around the room. It had sounded mean, Bubbles knew it had sounded mean, but for once in her life she didn't care about being sweet and nice.

Though at the pained look on his face, she faltered and briefly thought she'd gone too far.

A loud, sudden thump from outside, followed by some frantic yelling, interrupted the tension. Everybody looked to the door. One of the students reached for the knob—

The door was kicked open and a number of men dressed completely in black spilled into the room, grabbing the nearest students and jamming guns in their faces.

Bubbles flew into the air as the room erupted into screams, but at the sound of several safeties clicking she halted, lowering her fists.

_This is so not the time_ , she thought to herself, rage boiling inside her.

.~.

The tennis match ended without the final game ever finishing play. Butch and Buttercup had suddenly resorted to using their powers—it was suspected Butch had caved first—and ruined their rackets in the process, effectively ending the game.

“Sorry about that,” Butch said in a very non-apologetic tone as he held out his borrowed racket, which was not only bent at a ninety degree angle but had a giant ball-shaped-hole in the middle of the strings.

Buttercup looked more guilty about it as she handed her busted one over. “Those probably cost a lot of money, huh?”

The numb students they'd borrowed the rackets from went pale as they assessed the damage.

After a second of consideration, Buttercup snatched at Butch's back pocket and kicked him away, where he ate the court face first.

“Here,” she said, emptying his wallet and waving the few hundreds in there at them. “This should cover it.”

“Hey!” Butch cried. His wallet smacked him in the face. Buttercup was thanking the tennis coach for their time, but no, she wouldn't be joining. The coach looked equal parts disappointed and relieved.

Butch grimaced and made to go after the tennis kids and either demand or pummel his money back—

Buttercup snatched him by the belt as he flew by and threw him back against the court.

“What the hell are you doing, giving my money away like that?”

“What the hell are you doing with six hundred dollars cash in your wallet?” Buttercup shot back.

“Honest non-evil-related work!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

The distress signal suddenly went off on her cell, and she snatched her phone from her pocket. “It's from Bubbles,” she said.

“What?” Butch said as he stood. “Did someone run over a squirrel or something—”

Buttercup scanned the text, suddenly looked up in horror at the school, then went tearing off towards it in a streak of green.

“Hey!” Butch cried. “Wait for me!”

.~.

Blossom went over her AP Chemistry test one last time, checking her watch as she flipped the pages. Forty-five minutes left to go. She darted a glance at the rest of the room hunched into their little paper cubicle walls. Kris was off at the other end of the gym, somewhere. Robin was in AP Chem, too; she was a few rows down. Blossom wondered how long they still needed. Not that it mattered; nobody could leave until the time was up anyway.

On her way in she'd seen Cindy, who was probably over with the rest of the Seniors in Kris' section. She hadn't talked to Cindy much in Dance lately, but Cindy didn't seem to want to talk to anyone much at all. Blossom hoped this whole business with Brick hadn't so shaken Cindy that she'd do poorly on her AP.

Brick wasn't here. Since he shared all his AP classes with Blossom, he'd opted out of all his APs and had chosen to take the regular finals instead.

The boy was so juvenile. He should've taken at least _one_.

A sudden, piercing chirp sounded, and Blossom hastily grabbed her cell as a few teachers stalked over, angry at the interruption.

“No, it's not a regular call, it's the distress signal,” she assured them, standing. “I have to go—”

She took flight and headed for the nearest doors when the other side of the gym exploded into screams. She turned to see five—no, six or seven men dressed in black and with bullet proof vests on, all wielding guns and grabbing students.

Kris was one of them.

She gasped and made to shoot forward but at the number of them spilling into the room she held back. She couldn't save all of them at once; she could maybe take out four or five but that still left a potential two or three students who would get hurt, or worse—

The students at the other end of the room were still screaming. More guys in black were filtering through the other doors, dragging the musical theater students with them. After all of them were through (Boomer strolling lazily among them, she noted, and wondered why he wasn't flying), Bubbles floated in, wary.

Blossom's heart sank. Even with Bubbles, even with Buttercup, there were too many.

Buttercup burst through the doors and looked ready to start a spree of violence—

“Buttercup, no!” Blossom shouted, and her sister stopped. The screaming ceased at the sound of Blossom's voice.

Buttercup angrily spat, “Why not?”

Blossom scanned the room, trying desperately to think up a plan as the numbers climbed in her head. Twenty-seven men. Twenty-seven armed men, each with a student—Kris, Cindy, and Robin among them. Twenty-seven divided by three, that was nine, and stopping nine wouldn't generally be a problem but they all had guns, vicious looking guns, and were pointing them at students and spreading out throughout the gym, besides.

“Because there's too many of us,” one of them said, his smug voice ringing in the air. “Right, Blossom?”

“Holy shit.” Butch had appeared at the door, his eyes sparkling as he took in the scene. “This is some fucking day, let me tell you.”

.~.

Brick had heard some semblance of a commotion on his way out of class—he'd finished his final early, and unlike the APs students were permitted to leave their regular finals once they finished—but didn't pay it much mind. He was in no way interested in staying to investigate. He had packing to do.

He strolled down the halls, pausing as he reached the atrium. There was a figure in the double doorway to the gym, where the AP Chem test was supposed to be going on. He frowned, recognizing that frame.

“God damn it, Butch,” he muttered under his breath, then zipped forward, reaching a hand for his idiot brother's collar—

The other door swung open, and Brick stilled, his eyes settling on the automatic weapon pointing him straight in the face.

“Oh, you are _so_ shitting me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Get in, both of you,” the man wielding the weapon said.

“Or what? You'll put a bullet in my brain?” Brick said in a bored tone.

Butch was giddy. “Go ahead, man, give it a shot. Ha! Get it? A shot?”

“Shut up, Butch,” Brick snarled.

“Is this seriously happening?” Buttercup's voice echoed.

“I'm with her,” Brick said, glaring at the idiot with the gun. “Are you seriously pointing that thing at me?”

“Get in or I'll blow your fucking brains out,” the man said.

Brick stared at him, dumbfounded. “You. Are a _fucking_ idiot.”

“I like your gun,” Butch said, eyes gleaming.

“This guy's got a Spectre,” Boomer called out, pointing at the man nearest him.

“Get the fuck down!” the man barked.

Boomer pouted. “No.”

“Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?” Brick growled.

A round of shots rang out, and screams pierced the air. One of the overhead lights shattered.

“Brick!” Blossom shouted. “Just do as he says! They've got hostages, for God's sake!”

“This isn't my God damn problem! I have to pack!” he shouted back.

The man in the center of the gym who'd fired his gun into the roof now aimed his weapon at Brick, too. “Do as she says, kid. Get your ass in here.”

A deathly silence fell over the room. Brick turned a cold eye on the man who'd spoken. “Excuse me?”

“Get your ass in here,” the man said deliberately, then turned his gun on his hostage. Kris.

In the background, Blossom tensed.

“Get your ass in here or I'll blow this guy's head off.”

Like the rest of the room, Kris was shaking. Probably wasn't used to staring a gun down. Brick darted a glance at a taut, desperate Blossom, fists clenched. He dimly thought that as a superhero, by this point she should've gotten used to people she cared about being put in danger.

Brick looked past the man who was pointing a gun at him and said levelly, “So blow his head off.”

“ _Brick_!” Blossom shrieked, horrified.

“Do I look like the type of guy who gives a shit?” Brick continued.

“You ever seen someone's brains on the outside of their body?” the guy said in a grim voice.

Butch started laughing.

Brick was unfazed. “Looks like raw chicken fat.”

“Ugh, thanks for reminding me. I planned on eating tonight,” Boomer groaned, making a face.

There was a strangled inhalation of breath, and Brick looked at her. Blossom's lower lip was trembling as her gaze flitted between him and her boyfriend.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Without a word, he carefully sidestepped Butch and began to slowly make his way to the center of the room, making sure to avoid contact with any of the other gunmen—twenty-seven, he counted—and the terrified students being held hostage. He glanced briefly at Cindy, tears running down her face as her guy pointed a gun at her neck.

_Help_ , she mouthed at him, and he had to keep from rolling his eyes. This was why he couldn't do the fucking hero thing. Too many weepy clingers.

Within seconds he had reached the guy handling Kris.

“I take it you're the leader,” he said, voice dull.

“Gettin' a good education, aren't you?” the man said.

“Not from here,” Brick muttered. “You know you sons of bitches are probably surrounded outside by helicopters and cop cars right now?”

“The Powerpuff Girls are in the same God damn room as us,” the guy responded. “What good are the fucking police going to do?”

“You got a point, there,” Brick admitted. He smirked. “Still. High school? What the hell, man? You could've robbed a bank with the artillery you got.”

“We've got our reasons.”

Brick's eyes widened. “Oh, I see! Making a statement, huh? 'Look at us, we took on the Powerpuff Girls! A bunch of regular old folks like us. All's we got is advanced weaponry—'”

“You talk too God damn much, smartass,” the guy snapped, throwing Kris down and aiming his gun at Brick. “I could shoot you. I could shoot all your God damn friends. You'd all be dead in a matter of seconds. It's that easy.”

A knowing smile pulled onto Brick's face and he said in a low voice, “Is it, now?”

“Um, I don't mean to interrupt, but are you going to shoot him or what?” Butch groaned, anxious.

“Are you?” Brick asked. “I mean, I come in here, I don't take your orders, I insult you, I really couldn't give a fuck if you shot the entire room dead right now—and I do mean that—”

“You're askin' for it, kid—”

“Doesn't that piss you off? A little bit?” He looked around the room. “Any of you? Some hot young shithead like me, acting all fearless in the face of danger? I'm practically _begging_ you to put a bullet in me.”

“Team A!” the man barked, and a number of men dropped their hostages and aimed their guns at Brick.

The leader stared Brick down, his gaze perfectly aligned with the barrel of his gun. “Your wish is our command,” he said quietly.

Brick glanced around the room again, meeting Blossom's eyes, still stricken with panic, but there was recognition there, she knew he was up to something—

“Twelve,” he said, deliberately, and she blinked, suddenly scanning the room.

“'Twelve,' what?” the guy snapped.

Brick wet his lips. “Twelve bullets you're about to put in me.”

“Oh, you're getting more than that, you little shit.”

_Twenty-seven minus twelve leaves fifteen_ , Brick thought. If the girls all attacked, aiming their eyebeams and both fistbeams, that gave them each three simultaneous shots, assuming their aim was on. With his brothers, that covered the remaining gunmen, but it was a gamble. He couldn't count on Boomer and Butch having that sense...

“Boys,” Brick said, and he sensed his brothers tensing, at the ready.

“Brick?” Boomer asked.

“Help,” he said, and watched Blossom's eyes flick to his brothers.

“There you go,” the lead gunman sneered. “Show us a little fear.”

Brick rolled his eyes. “Eep. I'm stricken with terror.”

“Any last requests, shithead?”

Brick shot the guy a wide grin. “Go fuck yourse—”

They opened fire, the leader aiming right at Brick's face, and he twisted his head, catching the bullet in his teeth and instantly spitting it back out at full speed into the man's boot. It pierced leather, skin, tissue, and as the man howled in pain and stared at a humorless Brick, the room exploded into blue, green, and pink light.

Brick snatched his gun and kicked the guy clear to the other end of the gym, where he hit the wall headfirst and then slumped to the floor, stunned.

Bubbles and Buttercup were already herding heaps of screaming hostages out of the gym. His brothers and Blossom had missed three guys, and there were still the eleven others that had fired at Brick. He instantly field-stripped the gun in his hands, eyes glowing red as the pieces clattered to the floor and the gunmen gaped at him, some retaining the sense—or stupidity—to fire.

Several guys were flung across the room, into the ceiling, blasted away. A small handful of students were still caught up in the fray, and the four gunmen left each grabbed one at random.

“Oh, Christ!” Cindy cried, sobbing.

Kris merely struggled, his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Okay, I'm getting really sick of being a hostage now,” Robin declared, irritated. “This is, what, like the fifth time in my entire life? I need to move the hell out of Townsville!”

The last guy had actually grabbed Boomer.

“Dude! Hands off!” Boomer exclaimed, striking him with his bat. “I'm saving myself for marriage!”

Brick was at Cindy's side in a flash and ripped the gun out of the guy's hands, yanking Cindy aside as he kneed the man in the gut, feeling rib after rib breaking. Boomer swung at the two men remaining, a hard _crack_ echoing in the room with each hit.

One of the guys pulled the trigger as he went down, and a string of bullets exploded out of it, carving a trail in the hardwood to Kris.

Blossom's attention was caught by the gunfire as she maneuvered the rest of the students outside, but she was caught up in the crowd and all the way on the other side of the gym, she'd never make it in time—

Brick heard it amidst all those screams, the tiny, desperate cry that slipped her throat, and he dove, snatching Kris by the collar and jerking him away from the fire.

Cindy screamed again and clawed at Brick, tightening her arms around his shoulders and sobbing into his chest, trying to get as far away from the ground as possible.

The gunfire stopped. Blossom landed, staring at Brick as Cindy clung to him and Kris grabbed at the leg of Brick's jeans, eyes on the gun that had fired at him.

Brick stared back at her, unsure of how to read her expression. She looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment, the way her eyes were shimmering, the way her lip was shaking. She extended her arms, and without thinking, he started to lift an arm to reach for her, too—

“Kris,” she whispered, dropping to her knees and pulling her boyfriend into her arms. Brick instantly settled his arm around Cindy's shoulder.

“Thank you,” Cindy hiccuped, and kissed Brick's neck, wet with her tears. “Thank you, thank you, oh God, thank you so much—”

“Are you okay?” Blossom asked Kris, taking his face in her hands.

“I'm okay,” he said, voice wavering, and he smiled weakly at her, trying to hug her back, but he was shaking too much.

“Chill out,” Brick muttered into Cindy's ear. “It's over.” He was hoping that would comfort her enough to get her to let go, but she only sobbed harder and clung tighter.

“Brick,” Blossom whispered, and he looked at her. Her eyes were still shimmering as they met his. “Thank you.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then broke it, assessing the extensive damage the gym had suffered.  
  


“I was supposed to go home and pack,” he muttered. None of these God damn fucking heroics. It wasn't him. What the fuck had he been thinking?

“Nobody was shot, thank God,” Bubbles said, appearing at Blossom's side. Buttercup was helping Robin up (“No, seriously, I need to get my ass out of Townsville,” Robin hissed at her friend).

“That guy was,” Boomer said, pointing at the unconscious leader. “Does it count if the weapon was Brick's, um, mouth?”

“That sounds dirty as hell,” Butch snickered, landing. The rest of them stared at him and the two dozen guns he had slung across his back. “What?”

“You can't keep those,” Brick ordered.

“But I won them fair and square! I even used them for good, I shot some of these fuckers with their own guns—”

“Is that where all that extra gunfire was coming from?” Buttercup mused. “Come to think of it, I didn't see your green streak anywhere after the first charge—”

“How can you use something like that?” Blossom cried.

“I like toys,” Butch chirped. “They're neat!”

One of the gunmen groaned and began crawling towards the door, catching everybody's attention. Wordlessly, Butch rolled one of his weapons into his hands and fired one shot at the guy's leg.

“Butch!” Blossom and Bubbles cried as the guy screamed and clutched at his bloody leg.

“What?! That still counts as using it for good, doesn't it?!”

.~.

Brick left almost immediately—he wasn't keen on talking to the cops—so Blossom lingered behind to recount what had happened. Buttercup and Butch waited at the sidelines, though she was mostly staying to make sure Butch didn't get his hands on any more guns.

Bubbles felt no need to stick around. Blossom was preoccupied, and Butch and Buttercup were chatting. Despite what had just gone down, she was still in no mood to talk to Boomer.

Boomer, however, being a typical boy, absolutely would not take the hint.

“Are you okay?” He tailed her out the door and jogged to catch up to her.

“I'm fine. My skin stops bullets, remember?”

“No, I didn't mean that.” He grasped her by the arm and stopped them both, angling her towards him. She kept her expression as neutral as possible. “I'm over this silent treatment crap. Why won't you talk to me?”

She stared at his shoes, unwilling to answer, but wanting him to see how hurt and upset she was so he might have a chance at figuring it out himself.

“Are you still mad about the uniforms?”

“Are you still not sorry about them?” she retorted.

“I'm never going to be sorry about those!”

“Well, you should be!”

His arms flailed for an exasperated second, trying to make sense of it. “Why?! Why should I be? This is a stupid thing to be fighting over! I don't understand what you want me to do! Do you want me to 'fess up to it? Do you want me to say, 'I'm sorry?'”

“Even if you _did_ apologize, it wouldn't mean anything unless you really felt sorry,” she said.

“Well, good, because I don't and I wasn't planning on it.”

Her face fell. She'd thought he wasn't a bad person anymore, once.

“Don't you care?” she said, her voice coming out softer than she meant it to. “Don't you care about other people?”

“I care about _you_ ,” he said to her.

“Then why do you keep eating lunch with Haley?!” she burst, then clapped her hands over her mouth. No, this wasn't about that! This was about him not treating other people right, about him acting like a bad guy—

A stunned Boomer sputtered, “I—I thought you didn't want to talk to me. I thought you just needed some time—”

_I completely messed up_ , she thought desolately to herself. This whole stupid thing had been about the uniforms in the first place, but the second she'd walked into the cafeteria to find him at Haley's side instead of hers, she'd gotten even more stubborn about refusing to talk to him.

She was still angry about the uniforms. But what hurt her was him spending time with his ex.

“Look,” he was saying, “me and Haley, we're not back together—”

“So why are you hanging out with her so much?!”

“I don't—I can explain, just, not right now, just come to the End-of-Year Concert tomorrow, I swear I'll explain everything—”

A thought occurred to him, and he paused.

“Are... are you jealous?” he asked, eyes suddenly brimming with hope.

The look on his face made her want to laugh and hit him at the same time. To keep from doing either, she whipped around and stalked away.

“Bubbles!”

“Don't follow me!” she called back.

“Does this mean you're not coming tomorrow night?!”

Bubbles groaned in frustration and waved him off.

.~.

She skipped practice all next day. Bubbles was generally a positive person, but when she felt like an emotional wreck she tended to draw into herself and shut people off. Even her closest friends had trouble talking to her.

That evening, though, when Buttercup came looking for someone to accompany her to the Townsville High End-of-Year Rock Band Concert, Bubbles caved. Pretending to study wasn't getting her much of anywhere, and showing up wasn't necessarily a guarantee that she'd talk to Boomer.

“They were going to cancel this thing,” Buttercup said conversationally a few songs into the show. “After that thing yesterday.”

“I heard. What changed their minds?”

“All the students made a big stink about it. Said canceling it was basically like letting terrorism win.”

“I don't get it. What does that even mean?” Bubbles said, frowning.

“Where's the set list?” Buttercup craned her neck over the crowd.

“Here.” Bubbles dug in her back pocket for the scrap of paper Boomer had stuffed into her locker mid-day when it became clear she wasn't going to be speaking to him. On it was the set list, scribbled in his barely readable handwriting. “Bloo Kazoo just finished. The Galaxy Girls are up next...”

Buttercup took the list from her and studied it as Bubbles shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed, scuffing her shoe along the ground as she was jostled by the rest of the crowd. Onstage the band was starting to set up.

“No Neck Joe doesn't go on for awhile,” Buttercup observed, handing the list back to Bubbles. She shook her head and indicated for Buttercup to keep it. “Hey, I'm going to go grab a soda. You want anything?”

“No, thank you. Wait, a brownie. A cookie.”

Buttercup gave her a look. “A brownie or a cookie?”

“Both. No, wait...” Bubbles sighed. “Never mind.”

As Buttercup disappeared in the direction of the concession tables at the back, Bubbles tried to focus on the stage. The lead guitarist stepped up to the mic. Behind her, Bubbles could see Haley adjusting her bass.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we're doing something a bit different tonight. I know we're called The Galaxy Girls, but we're making someone an honorary fourth member for this night only...”

The crowd chatter died for a moment, and Bubbles blinked as Boomer strolled onto stage with his guitar in hand, beaming and waving as if he were in a beauty pageant. Slow laughter and cheering began to build up as he took center stage.

He tossed his head at the crowd. “What up, fools?!” He glanced at Bubbles and smiled as the crowd obliged him with some applause. “You came,” he said quietly, happily.

“Oh, my God, I cannot believe this guy,” Buttercup said as she reappeared next to Bubbles.

“Is—is this for real?” Bubbles stammered, gaze flitting endlessly between Boomer and Haley.

“Yeah, this is totally happening,” Buttercup said, popping her soda can open.

“Kinda every guy's dream to be onstage surrounded by hot girls, right?” Boomer said, gesturing to the band, and the crowd voiced their approval as Haley and her bandmates grinned. “But I'm actually up here tonight to cheer up a... friend of mine. Also, um, the other No Neck Joe guys said they'd rather strangle themselves on their guitar strings before playing this song.”

As the crowd laughed, Bubbles was trying to stay angry. He'd been planning this thing with Haley for over a week. He'd let her suffer from his absence for that long. One song was not going to win her over.

And yet. He'd been planning this with Haley for over a week. For her.

_This is so not happening_ , Bubbles thought to herself through her giddiness, her excitement as Boomer turned his eye in her direction. _This is so not happening_.

“She's had kinda a rough time lately, guys,” Boomer went on. Several people turned to look at her, and an uncomfortable Buttercup edged away. “And I... I just, I haven't been that cool about stuff either, so... you know, she could use some cheering up.” He smiled, and strummed his guitar. “So, Bubbles?”

Bubbles was generally a positive person, and even when she was an emotional wreck it was never for long. The dull ache in her heart was already gone; it was swelling into something warm and wonderful as he met her eyes.

“This one's for you.”

Five seconds into the song, Buttercup groaned. “What the hell is this guy's obsession with Avril Lavigne?!”

.~.

“I _totally_ gotcha,” Boomer teased as he and Bubbles walked around outside the school.

She looked up at the moonless sky, glad that he couldn't see her beaming in the darkness. “Okay, yeah.”

“I can't believe you thought we were getting back together!”

“I didn't think you were getting back together, I just—”

“You thought I was giving up on you.”

She hesitated before nodding. “Yes.”

“You thought I'd never really liked you, that once we hit a snag I just said, 'Oh well!' and tried to get my ex back.”

“You _are_ a boy,” she pointed out.

“A boy who still likes you,” he said, and then they both were quiet as they shuffled along the walkway. A car passed by, and she glanced at his face as it was briefly illuminated.

_He is so cute._

She turned away. “What's your obsession with Avril, anyway?”

He pouted. “You didn't like me singing, 'Hot,' to you onstage?”

“The song was fine. I was just wondering—along with everyone else in the room, I'm sure—why you're always singing her stuff!”

“She's this generation's Dylan, is why.”

Bubbles snorted. “You don't believe that.”

“How would you know?”

“You sing her because it gets you attention.” She smirked at him as they turned the corner and began to walk along the back of the school, away from the street. Most of the students had left already. “You like attention.”

“One of many things I like,” he said smoothly, and Bubbles felt his hand bump into hers. She hastily clasped her hands behind her back, her heart thudding happily in her chest.

They walked in silence for a bit.

“You were totally jealous,” Boomer said quietly, and Bubbles blushed in the dark.

She took a long moment to respond. “A little.”

He stepped in front of her and faced her, stopping them both. Even in the shadows she could see him smiling. “A lot.”

“... Maybe.”

He laughed, gently. “Why would you be jealous?”

She stared at him, taking in those eyes lifted in curiosity and that smile that already knew the answer.

When she didn't respond, he stepped a little closer and whispered, “You have no reason to be jealous. You got a piece of me...”

Her smile widened as he took another step. “And honestly?”

Their foreheads bumped together, touched, and he sang, “My life...”

“Boomer,” she finally laughed—he was always doing stuff like this, stuff that made it so hard—

“Would suck...”

She liked it. She liked him. So she let him drift closer, let herself smile as he did so.

“Without you...”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he pressed forward.

A sudden explosion of laughter—one of the doors had just opened—cut through the air, and they jerked away from each other, looking to the source of the interruption. One of the bands—judging from all the equipment they were carrying—filed out the door, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Bubbles turned back to Boomer, catching his irritated expression in the light from the open door before they were both enveloped in darkness again.

She crossed her arms across her chest and resumed walking. His shoes scraped along the concrete as he jogged to catch up.

The moment was ruined. Bubbles had lost the lightness, the joy that filled her chest with the exhilaration of flirting with someone she liked.

“I'm going to kill those guys in their sleep,” Boomer muttered, and she smacked his shoulder.

“Leave them alone,” she scolded.

“No. I'm a bad guy.”

“Are you?”

He hesitated, catching the weight behind her question. “I mean I could revert to being a bad guy for this one time.”

“Leave them alone,” she repeated. “They shouldn't be killed just for exiting a school.”

He sighed. “You're making a better man out of me.”

She snorted. “We're still kids, Boomer.”

They both came to a stop, having circled around to the front of the school again. Boomer turned to her.

“Hey,” he said quietly, reaching a hand for her cheek.

She laughed nervously and pulled away. “Thanks, Boomer. That was really sweet, what you did.”

She almost leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. A friendly one. A small one. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it was a snowball that would start an avalanche, and if she so much as leaned forward she might not be able to stop. So she only smiled and waved, ignoring the tightening in her chest.

She still didn't know, really. Whether he was good or bad. It was one thing when it came to her. It was another thing when it involved other people, people like Ashley, like the cheer squad, like the guys who'd interrupted their moment. His comment had reminded her.

Despite all that, it took an enormous amount of willpower for her to do this.

“Night, Boomer,” she whispered.

He looked at her in silence for a long while before sighing, “Night, Bubbles.”

She took off, heart sinking as they parted.

.~.

“Ugh! I totally had her!”

Butch watched Boomer pacing in front of the TV, face twisted in anguish. “Hey. Down in front.”

“It was perfect! Everything! The moment, the mood—and then those jackasses, they totally cockblocked me!”

“Why are you bugging me with this shit?” Butch frantically looked around. “Where the hell is Brick?”

“I can't believe it,” Boomer groaned, stopping directly in front of the TV, to Butch's immense chagrin.

“Don't you have better things to do than bug the shit out of me?” Butch cried, throwing the remote at Boomer, who caught it without looking.

“We've only got a few more weeks,” Boomer muttered, tossing the remote from hand to hand. He swore under his breath. “I was so God damn close...”

“ _Brick_!” Butch called, voice desperate. “ _Brick_! _Help_!”

“Geez, all this scheming shit is harder than it looks,” Boomer grumbled as he set the remote down on top of the TV (“No! Damn you!” Butch whined) and began to make his way to his room. “How does Brick make it look so easy?”

Boomer's door slammed just as Brick's opened, and a sullen, irritated redhead came stalking up to Butch. He stopped in front of the TV, glaring.

“ _What_.”

Butch blinked at him, eyes flickering in the direction of Boomer's room. Then he pointed at the TV.

“Can you pass me the remote?”

Brick stared at him a long, long moment, then turned deliberately and picked up the remote. He held it up for Butch to see, eyes lifted in question, and Butch reached out from the safety of the couch, making grabby motions with his hands—

Brick crumpled it into a little wad and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor.

“Aagh!” Butch cried in despair.

“You bug me again and I'll be doing that to your balls,” Brick snarled, and walked stiffly back to his room.

.~.

Blossom had thought the school would cancel Dance Company auditions after the attack, but Townsville High was back up and running as usual within a couple of days, with AP tests resuming in the cafeteria instead of the devastated gym. The gym was blocked off for now with some measly yellow tape; they weren't going to start reconstruction until after testing was over.

Townsville was kind of used to violence against its person, she noted dimly. Bouncing back into normalcy was something its citizens had gotten really good at.

She was keeping busy. She still had three APs out of six total left to go, plus the Zombie Musical next week, plus preliminary practicing for next school year's Officer Induction Dance (Alicia's choreography was awesome and not the least bit sexual, but Blossom still got sick when she thought about what she might have to wear), plus today's Company auditions.

As was the case in previous years, she had a ton of people trying out for the Hip Hop team. While the Company did dances all together, they were also split up into further teams, specializing in Ballet, Jazz, Tap, Contemporary, and Hip Hop. Previously Blossom had headed Ballet and Hip Hop, but with so many students interested in Hip Hop she always had to turn Ballet auditions over to someone else.

She recognized a number of students from the community center she worked at over the summer. She always tried to be... “gentler” during auditions, but it was impossible not to exercise some firmness. These _were_ auditions, after all.

After a grueling two hours, and many mental notes—she'd probably be cutting half of the kids auditioning—she dismissed them. As the studio fell into chatter, a couple of kids she'd worked with came trotting up. She smiled at them.

“Good to see you guys auditioning,” she said cheerily.

“Did we make it?” one of the girls asked.

“Like I'd tell you now! You'll find out next Tuesday,” Blossom said. Both of them were a Yes.

“Hey Blossom, I thought you guys had a Ballroom team?”

Blossom's attention briefly flickered, and she shook her head and said, “No, just a couple of us do Ballroom—me and Cindy, one of the girls who's graduating.”

“So it's just you now? What about that other guy?”

“I—you mean Brick?”

“Isn't he in Dance?”

“No,” Blossom said. “That was... part of a deal with... well, it's complicated.”

“He's really good!”

“Yeah, seriously! You guys looked _amazing_.”

“Thanks,” Blossom said, her mind flitting to the memory of Brick's arms around her as they danced. She almost smiled.

“Are you two going out?”

Blossom flushed red before she could answer, and the girls immediately latched onto it.

“Oh my God, you are!”

She found her voice and violently shook her head. “No! No, we're not! He's just—I mean, he _was_ just my dance partner!”

“Knock knock.”

Blossom looked up to see a grinning Kris at the door to the studio and an overwhelming guilt suddenly swept over her. Like she'd just been caught cheating.

“Kris, hey! Can you wait for me outside? I'll be right there, promise. Girls, you'll find out about your auditions next week. Go home.”

“Are you doing any more ballroom dances?” one of them pressed.

“Probably not, unless I find a new partner,” Blossom said, the words somehow sinking in her chest.

Before the girls could question her further, she herded them out the side exit, then quickly locked up and changed. Kris was pacing the hall outside. He smiled when she came out.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for her hand, and she let him take it. “I'll drive you home.”

“Okay.”

Blossom walked hand in hand with Kris on the way out of the school. They passed by the yellow taped gym on the way, and she let her eyes linger on it as they passed, feeling numb. In her head she kept seeing Brick after the attack, looking almost comically heroic as Cindy and Kris had clung to him, tall and steady as a rock.

_I was wrong about him_. She felt wrong about everything. She had been so quick to leap to conclusions about his character, and while he hadn't discouraged those opinions of hers, he had proven that she knew nothing about character when people's lives were at stake.

He'd had no reason to help. He'd even said: he had to pack. It would've been easy for him to turn away. When she'd practically begged him to do as they said, most of her expected he'd just leave. But he hadn't.

A small part of her wanted to point out that despite the outcome, he hadn't come willingly, but she refused to let that thought surface. She wanted to believe he was a hero, she realized. She wanted him to be good.

“Blossom?”

She blinked, glancing at Kris. She'd practically forgotten he was there.

“Didn't mean to interrupt,” he said apologetically. “You were just really spacing out there.”

She stared at him, disheartened when even the act of looking at her boyfriend could not displace Brick from her mind. She felt wrong about this, too.

The weight of his hand felt heavy, foreign. Kris liked her so much. Too much. No, she couldn't do this.

“Kris,” she whispered, her voice cracking as a fear gripped her heart, a fear that felt different yet just as raw as the terror that overcame her in the face of impending loss, of defeat. This felt like the hardest thing.

She tried to push Brick out of her mind. She owed Kris that much.

“We have to talk.”

.~.

Brick paced the school grounds, waiting. The school doors creaked open behind him, and he turned reflexively to see who it was.

Cindy edged out, weaving her hands together. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

After a pause she came towards him, fidgeting. “I just... wanted to thank you for last week.”

Last week's attack. He shook his head and shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“No, it was something,” she said quietly. “It was my life. That's definitely something.”

If Brick had been any other type of guy he might've touched her hair or pulled her close for a hug. She looked that sad. But he only watched her, indifferent to the enormity of the emotional trauma he'd dealt her.

“Congrats, by the way,” he said.

“On what?”

“Graduating.”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.”

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a long, black car pulling up. Mrs. Morbucks rolled down the window and waved.

He turned to Cindy and said, “Well, my ride's here.”

She was watching the car and looked as if she was fighting tears. “Yeah.”

Girls were so good at looking pathetic. Even Brick couldn't be immune to it all the time. He finally relented.

“I'm sorry,” he said, touching a hand to her cheek. She blinked in surprise, and his hand shifted against her skin. “About how it all went down.”

She bit her lip and nodded, a weak smile breaking onto her face.

Brick turned and got into the limo, where a beaming Mrs. Morbucks was waiting.

“Pretty girl,” she commented.

“She's not bad,” Brick said, holding a hand up in some semblance of a farewell gesture as he shut the door. The car started to move.

“She has such a sad face, though.”

“All girls do, at some point or another.”

Mrs. Morbucks' eyes were glittering. “Ah, yes. I remember.”

“You wanted to discuss something with me?”

The woman immediately shifted into business mode. “Brick, you've heard of PRM?”

He paused. “Formerly M2 Industries. European, right?”

“Basically JS, Inc.'s European equivalent, yes.”

“I hear they're at the top in that market. What about them?”

“When do you head back to JS?”

“Mid-June,” Brick said. “What about PRM?”

“When you go back,” Mrs. Morbucks said, smoothing out the skirt of her suit, “I want you to keep in mind PRM's interest in forming a partnership with JS, Inc.”

He settled back into his seat with a sigh and closed his eyes. “You're better off talking to Smith directly. I'm just a field agent. I don't carry any weight on the board.”

“I have no intention of speaking to Smith, or any of the current board members, for that matter.”

Brick lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at her. She smiled a winning smile at him.

“So why are you telling me?” he said quietly.

That smile of hers widened.

“You know.”

.~.

Brick went home in a weird mood. Butch commented on this the following Monday afternoon as he and Buttercup made their way to the school exits to take advantage of their free blocks.

“He's probably just happy about leaving,” Butch said.

“He didn't seem to like Townsville much,” Buttercup agreed. “How about you?”

“It's alright.” He caught sight of Blossom about to enter the school's double doors, and moved forward to open them for her. She paused, wary. They hadn't had much contact over the past few months.

“Go ahead,” he said politely, and she blinked. Buttercup was amused.

“Um... thanks,” Blossom said, still eyeing him as she passed.

“Anytime!” he called out. “...Beautiful,” he added under his breath.

“I heard that,” Blossom said in an undertone.

“Just telling it like it is,” he said with a shrug, allowing Buttercup to pass through first.

“Look at you, being civil,” Buttercup said approvingly.

“I may not be fluent in it, but I know a thing here and there.”

They meandered in silence for awhile, both half-heartedly contemplating things they could do to pass the time. It didn't feel particularly necessary. Just walking was nice enough.

_Huh_ , Butch thought. Nice. This was nice. He stared at the sidewalk and matched his steps to hers.

Maybe it was too nice.

He looked up, knitting his brow as he scanned the residential area they'd wandered into. Somebody lived around here. The twins? Or was it Mitch? Which reminded him...

Butch huffed his bangs out of his face and asked, “So how come you and Mitch are so weird?”

Buttercup looked up and sighed. “It's... dumb.”

“Dumb how?”

“Just...” She waved it off. “Nothing. We just didn't make a good couple. We thought it'd work and it just didn't. You know. That kind of thing.”

“I don't know what the fuck you're saying,” Butch said bluntly.

“Thanks for your sensitivity,” she grumbled.

“It's been half a fucking year, hasn't it? Almost?”

“Look, we were friends a long damn time—”

“What'd he do? Cheat on you?”

“No.”

“Get you pregnant?”

“ _No_!” she cried, punching him in the arm. “Shut up! We didn't even do that!”

“Then what the fuck was it?” he prodded, rubbing his arm. “Ow, by the way.”

She stared at him, the anger subsiding from her expression. A weird sort of numbness replaced it. “It was stupid,” she finally muttered. “Something really stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Are you going to mind your own God damn business or what?” she snapped. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Fine, whatever.” He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked. The silence was no longer comfortable; tension was etched in every facet of Buttercup's face. It had just been a simple question. He had just been curious.

He huffed out a breath and looked around at the little suburban neighborhood they were walking through. He felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to break a window.

“You packed yet?” Buttercup suddenly asked, and he looked back at her.

“Hell, no! I got weeks.”

“Like... three.”

“I don't need three fucking weeks to throw my shit in a box.”

“You might need three fucking weeks to smoke it all, though,” Buttercup shot back with a smirk, and he started laughing.

“Good point. You should come over and help me out.”

“I've never been over to your place.”

“Wanna?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Naw. It's okay. I don't smoke or do any of that, anyway.”

“You're missing out.”

“So I've heard.”

They drifted past more houses and yards. Butch kicked a rock as they strolled along, sending it Buttercup's way at one point, and she kicked it back. They did this for a few more feet before it tumbled into the gutter and neither felt very inclined to go after it.

“For what it's worth,” Buttercup finally said, stuffing her hands in her pockets and staring straight ahead, “it was fun, man.”

Butch looked at her, feeling himself crack a smile.

“Yeah.”

.~.

“I'm missing a shirt,” Brick said aloud, perplexed. He wasn't packing so much as taking inventory, and after going through his things twice he realized one of his shirts had gone AWOL.

It wouldn't have mattered because it was just _clothing_ , for fuck's sake, but it was one of his favorites. It was a crisp, bright red; a very comfortable shirt that worked casually or formally depending on what he paired it with. And he looked good in it. Brick was keen on looking good.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself. Maybe it was gone for good... no, impossible. He remembered wearing it, at some point... when? When had he last worn it? He must've left it somewhere.

He glanced at the clock. Technically, he had three more weeks for it to turn up, but it wasn't like he had a busy afternoon planned. Plus, he could take his precious Coil out for some exercise.

Brick pocketed his keys and left.

.~.

It felt good to be by herself.

Blossom stared for a long time at the mirrored wall, reflecting her lone self in the otherwise empty studio. Alicia had agreed to run the musical choreography rehearsals taking place this week at the Townsville Fine Arts Center. The students needed to get used to the space. They'd be performing at the end of the week.

Not that Blossom didn't want to help. She was just... just tired. With all the testing and practices and auditions and a very stressful armed attack not long ago, Blossom had not had much time for herself. And what free time she'd had had been spent with Kris.

Though he probably would've understood, if she'd needed time. He probably would've been cool with it. But lack of free time wasn't why she'd realized it wasn't going to work out.

She took a deep breath and turned on the stereo. Dwelling wasn't going to help things. She was here to take care of herself, and agonizing over things that were already said and done was futile.

Her music started, and she sighed in relief. It felt so good to be back. Alone.

Then about five minutes into her warm-ups Blossom decided she was going to freeze in that meat locker of a dance studio unless she put something on over her leotard. The tank top she’d changed out of would do little for the goosebumps that were only so far from taking up permanent residence on her arms.

She scrubbed her hands along her arms and trotted to the locker room. She hated to do this, but sometimes the other girls left sweatshirts in the studio. Surely it would be okay for her to just borrow one to practice in, at least until she’d warmed up…

There was one discarded hoodie on a bench, but it looked as if it’d last been used to scrub down the locker room, and Blossom would’ve opted to freeze to death long before she’d even touch it. After some fruitless scavenging, she gave up and headed back out to the floor. Her tank top would do. It was more important to keep her chest warm than her arms anyway.

As she drifted back into the main part of the studio, her eyes caught something hanging on the line of hooks next to the door, and she paused. It was a simple red button-down shirt—Brick’s, she knew, even at this distance.

_Oh, no_. _That’s ridiculous. I’m not wearing that._ Yet despite what she thought, Blossom found herself striding toward it, even though the studio didn’t even seem as cold now, even though the goosebumps on her arms were no longer a result of the chilly air…

She touched it more gingerly than necessary, eyes flickering to the door as if she might be caught at any moment, then realized it was silly to act like she was doing something wrong. Thirty seconds ago she’d wandered into the locker room looking for something exactly like this. She set her jaw and yanked it on, or did her best at yanking it on as it was very obviously not her size. The armpits came down to just under the curves of her breasts, and she had to fold the cuffs back four times just to bring them to her forearm. The tails of the shirt hung just shy of mid-thigh. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and blushed. There was something about girls in boys’ shirts that… well, that just looked sexy. She certainly felt something like that as she watched herself resume her warm-ups.

It surprised her how soft and comfortable Brick’s shirt was, almost as much as it surprised her how comfortable she felt in it, so much so that she didn’t think she wanted to take it off, but, well, she was getting ahead of herself, and that was just because it was warm and comfy, not because it smelled like him or anything like that.

Although it did smell like Brick. Not like sweaty Brick either, but clean, freshly showered Brick. And then she was thinking of Brick in the shower, and she felt even warmer, but not warm enough to take his shirt off. And then she was thinking of taking his shirt off, and then she was thinking her brain should not be allowed to wander into crazy territory like that. Silly brain.

She took a few deep breaths to clear her mind, to eliminate everything except the sensation of her body, stretching and moving to the music, forming lines of moving art with her legs and arms and torso. She sank into the familiar routine, letting her stretches carry her into a freeform dance, and everything else fluttered out of her mind as she lost herself in the music and the delicious feeling of releasing all her worldly ties and responsibilities as she moved on this earth, full of all passion and no stress.

Brick’s shirt whispered around her as she danced, and it smelled like him. When she closed her eyes, it almost felt like him.

Before she could stop herself, her thoughts were miles away from sense and logic. Dancing was the only thing on her mind.

Well... dancing and...

Suddenly it wasn’t her arms encircled about her but his, his curving down her neck, along her waist, and she tucked his shirt around her like a security blanket, foolishly letting herself wish that the arms she felt were his and the eyes she saw when she closed her own were real and not a figment of her imagination.

Brick’s shirt whispered around her as she danced, and it smelled like him.

.~.

He hadn't expected to find his shirt at Mrs. Morbucks'—it had been so long since he'd been there, after all—so that really only left Townsville High's dance studio. He'd probably taken it off during practice with Blossom or something.

The halls were deserted, save for a few students studying in the atrium. Brick floated past, not wanting to walk and listen to his steps, which would sound loud and invasive in that big empty space.

The locker room was quiet; he could pick up on the lack of movement with his superhearing. Beyond that, though...

It brought Brick very little joy to watch Blossom dance. And yet, he always seemed to have a great deal of trouble stopping.

He could see her when he floated in, just through the open door to the studio. He held his breath, eyes trained on the girl twirling across the floor, long legs just barely brushing the hardwood. Her hair whipped about her face, messy and undone—a far cry from the usual prim ponytail she kept it in when dancing. It was all in her eyes, masking her expression, and strands of it kept getting stuck in her mouth, which for some outrageous reason was really setting Brick off. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her lips; every time they slipped into his line of sight his gaze was riveted to them like lead to a magnet.

He caught himself wetting his lips and jerked his head away. What was _with_ him? It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Blossom dancing. Big deal. Dancing in his clothes, granted, that was different, and he made an effort to squash the line of thought that almost instantly followed the question of why she’d be in his clothing at all—

His eyes flicked back, and he slowly turned his head. She wore it well. There was just something about girls in boys’ shirts that made boys want to… do things.

Blossom’s figure, clad in her black leotard and tights, stood out in even starker contrast to the vibrant red of his shirt. When she hit the floor and turned it fell away from her frame, caressing her body as she moved. Against his better judgment, Brick swallowed.

_Your shirt_ , a little voice in his head reminded him, and he blinked, forcing himself forward, against the desire to stay still and just watch, just a little longer. He brought his hand up and rapped sharply on the doorframe.

Blossom gave a little gasp and jumped, twisting around to see who'd snuck up on her. Her hair fell into a wispy mess around her face, and she hastily patted it back, the sleeves of his shirt falling back to her elbows.

“Brick,” she breathed, and hell, that was something.

He simply stared at her for awhile before she shifted uneasily and said, “Um, yes?”

He blinked and shook his head a little to clear it. “Hey. I...” He looked her up and down, not really meaning to. “I was looking for my shirt.”

She glanced down, her face taking on a shade of red almost bright enough to rival the shirt's. “Oh! Yeah, I—I'm sorry, I was just... it's always freezing in here, I didn't have the sense to bring something of my own, and this was on the back wall.”

She rolled down the sleeves and walked over to him just as he began walking towards her. They met somewhere in the middle, and after straightening out the sleeves, the collar, she scrambled out of it and held it out to him.

“Here.”

He made sure to grab at the part of shirt that was most definitely not clenched in her hand to avoid contact of any variety.

“Thanks.” He folded it over in his arms, then said, “What are you doing here? I thought you'd be prepping for that inane musical, or out with your boyfriend—”

He paused, noting how she tensed at the mention of Kris.

“Or studying,” he finished quietly, his gaze boring into her.

“I just... needed some alone time,” she said dismissively.

Her attempt to be vague and nonchalant was betrayed by the weight of her tone; there was something else, something more.

“Kris is okay with that?” he asked. “I mean, you guys probably haven't been spending a lot of time together as it is—”

“We broke up,” she interrupted abruptly, and the room suddenly felt brighter, the air cleaner. Blossom, however, was staring down at the floorboards and looking remarkably guilty. “It wasn't him—”

Brick couldn't help it; he gave a short laugh and finished for her, “'It was you?' Please, you gotta have something more original than that.”

“It’s the truth,” she said defensively. “Kris was a really good guy—”

He shrugged. “Kinda bland, if you ask me—”

“Well, you’re not a very good judge of character,” she snapped, and he wondered why she was so worked up about this. It was just high school, for Christ's sake...

She almost seemed to sense the question. “He deserved better,” she continued, her gaze falling to the floor. “And… it wasn’t right, that he was so into me, and I…”

Brick clenched his teeth, completely involuntarily, and stared intently at her. _What,_ he wanted to scream, _What_?

Blossom was fixated on the wood grains next to her foot. “I couldn't—”

Suddenly she looked up, as if she had just now noticed Brick, and her face hardened. “What does it matter to you?”

Her abrupt shift in mood caught him off guard, and he almost went on the defensive before he realized he was in no mood to get into a screaming match with her. It just seemed to happen so often with them, and frankly, he was sick of it.

“It doesn't,” he muttered, and evidently his lack of animosity caught _her_ off guard. She stepped back, a little stunned.

“Well... okay then,” she said, and rubbed at her arm.

Brick swept his gaze across the studio one last time, hesitating when it fell back to her. He directed his attention to his shirt, wrinkling in his hands.

He held it up. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

So there. He turned and began to walk out.

“Brick,” Blossom called out, catching his attention. He paused and pivoted, his expression questioning.

“Why did you help that day in the gym?”

Brick stared at her, reflecting on how small her voice had sounded, how frantic and desperate her eyes had been.

He turned away. “I don't know,” he mumbled, and left Blossom to her alone time.

.~.

Opening night was upon them.

Bubbles took a deep breath and shook out her nerves in the green room. One of the girls sounded like she was getting ready to throw up her nervousness—literally, she was announcing it to the entire room. Bubbles didn't think she wanted to bear witness to that, so she slunk out and wandered down the hall of the Fine Arts Center, dodging several frantic fellow cast members along the way. Robin was one of the trumpet players in the orchestra pit—Bubbles thought she'd drop by and say hi, and then maybe wander backstage to chat with Blossom a bit...

Robin wasn't at her stand, though Bubbles recognized her trumpet case. There was a pencil on her music stand, and after a second, Bubbles scribbled a note on Robin's music— _Do us proud_!

“Bubbles?”

She turned, finding a black-clad Haley looking at her curiously. “Oh! Haley, hi!”

“You aren't backstage practicing?”

Bubbles winced, setting the pencil back down on the stand. “Thought I'd come say hi to Robin, but she isn't here... one of the girls sounded like she was going to barf her nerves out back there. I didn't really feel like sticking around.”

Haley made a face. “Eugh. I don't blame you.”

“Are you part of the orchestra—I mean, band tonight?”

“Yeah.” The dark-haired girl turned and pointed at her bass guitar, nearby. “I'm not sure how it happened, but Boomer talked me into helping out.”

“Well, he does think you're pretty talented—which you are.”

Haley smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“No, I should thank you. That was... I mean, back last week, the whole Boomer performance thing.” Bubbles bit her lip and looked apologetic. “I'm sure that was... I dunno...”

“Awkward?” Haley supplied, and they shared a laugh. “Yeah, I was kinda weirded out when he asked me about it. But whatever.” She shrugged. “Holding grudges isn't going to get you anywhere, right? And you know, when you get right down to it, it wasn't like he was a bad boyfriend. I gotta give the guy credit for knowing what he wants and going after it.”

Bubbles rubbed at her neck, fighting a blush. She remembered how cute they'd been together; she still felt guilty about this.

Haley read her expression and said dismissively, “Look, whatever. It's over.” After a pause, she added, “If that's what's keeping you from going out with him, don't let it. He's a nice guy. At least, he was when we were dating for all of five seconds... you'd probably have a better idea than me, now. You two really seem to hit it off.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Just go out with him!” Haley encouraged, her smile genuine. “What's holding you back, really?”

Bubbles shrugged helplessly. “This and that. Also he's leaving, like, in June.”

Haley raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Ugh.” Haley crossed her arms and looked off into the distance, thoughtful. “Well, suck. That's rough.”

“Hey!” The two girls looked up to see Boomer approaching them, already decorated in zombie make-up. “There you are!”

Haley snorted. “You look _ridiculous_.”

Boomer frowned. “Really? I'm supposed to look dead. Dead of the rotting flesh variety and all.”

“What brings you to the orchestra pit?” Bubbles asked.

“Some girl threw up in the green room,” Boomer said, gagging. “Hey, I wanted to practice your death scene with you.”

Before Bubbles could protest, Boomer was dragging her away as Haley waved at the both of them. On the way they passed Blossom, who was trying to deal with a frantic cast member who couldn't remember their moves for the big dance number. For a girl who'd just broken up with her boyfriend last week, Bubbles thought she looked remarkably composed. Then again, she herself hadn't exactly spent a lot of tears agonizing over the split with Will. But Kris had seemed so nice...

Boomer stopped them in a not-so-crowded area of the hall and knelt. “Okay! Let's go.”

“Go what?” Bubbles asked as she laid down, settling her head in Boomer's lap and hoping he couldn't hear her heart drumming in her chest. This scene always put her on edge. “I don't exactly have a lot of dialogue in this scene, being dead and all.”

“Shh,” he hushed. “It's dramatic. I gotta get it right, don't I? Close your eyes.”

Bubbles obediently complied, going completely still. After a second, she felt Boomer stroking back her hair, whispering his lines—it was crowded back there, but she had superhearing...

“God, sis... I messed up, I messed up so bad...”

He drew her limp body up and hugged her, pressing her close. Bubbles fought back the inclination to embrace him back; she was dead, after all.

“I should've listened to you, I never should've... I should've left them alone. She wasn't worth it. She isn't worth this...”

_This is it_ , Bubbles thought as Boomer slowly, slowly set her back down. _This is how it ends. He starts a war to take back the girl who left him and winds up losing the person most precious to him. And that's it_.

Well, save for a comical duet where her zombie-self began to awaken and started singing along as he rejected his ex one final time before returning to the world of the dead and ending the zombies' World Reclamation scheme.

“You play a really good dead girl.”

Bubbles cracked open an eye to look at a grinning Boomer. “So you're saying as long as I'm not moving or speaking, I make a good actor?”

“Hey, come on. I'm going to dig any role that involves me carrying you around and holding you close, aren't I?” He considered for a moment. “Or at least that would be second on my list, right after any role that involves us being a couple and kissing a lot.”

“Oh, you're making a list now?”

“Boomer! Bubbles! They're rounding us up! Let's go, we're starting in like fifteen minutes!”

They scrambled to their feet, Boomer grasping Bubbles by the hand before she could move on her own, and he pulled her along as they joined the throng of people heading backstage.

“This is it,” she breathed, and Boomer threw a smile back at her over his shoulder.

“This is it,” he agreed.

Before they hit the doors that would take them backstage, Dr. Wendell stopped everybody to give them one last pep talk. Bubbles couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Boomer was still holding her hand. Fifteen minutes seemed to go by all too quickly. Within what felt like seconds they were silently gliding backstage, taking their places behind the curtain as Dr. Wendell stepped outside to a round of applause.

Boomer finally let go of Bubbles' hand. She looked at him as he drifted by—he wasn't in the first scene, so he took his place back where he'd be out of sight once the curtain went up.

_Just go out with him_ , Haley had said.

He really did look goofy, all done up like a zombie. She couldn't help but smile as he met her eyes.

He grinned at her. “Ready?” he whispered, and she felt those ever-present butterflies alighting in her stomach, those butterflies that had nothing to do with performance anxiety.

“Ready,” she whispered back, and the curtain went up.

_-end Ch. 5-_


	6. We’ll Still Have The Summer After All, or Permanent Jet Lag, Please Take Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: mathkid and Juxtaposie deserve more credit than they get for how much they help me. Ch. 6 is TEF's Beach Episode, for you trope-savvy fans out there.

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Summer  
June – We’ll Still Have The Summer After All**, or **Permanent Jet Lag, Please Take Me Back**  
 _-sbj-_  
  
The Professor shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat, glancing at his girls every five seconds. After a good two days spent arguing back and forth about it, a surly Buttercup had conceded to the Professor's wishes and struggled into her wetsuit.  
  
“Too friggin' hot to surf in a wetsuit,” she muttered under her breath when she spotted the Professor glancing at her in the rearview.  
  
“I've seen plenty of people surf in wetsuits in the summer, Buttercup,” he said sternly.  
  
“They've got 3/2 thickness! This one that I've got on is a 5/3! I'm _suffocating_.” She tugged at the neck of her suit, trying to encourage airflow to her skin.  
  
The Professor refrained from rolling his eyes at her dramatizing. Teenagers.  
  
His eyes flicked to Blossom, seated next to a struggling Buttercup in the back. He bit his lip. Blossom was conservative about her body by nature, and, in addition to her sensible black one-piece, had an ankle-length wraparound skirt on, a light hoodie covering up her top and a wide-brimmed hat. He had absolutely nothing to complain about.  
  
Except—and he recognized this, as a father—Blossom could be wearing a full-body potato sack underneath several layers of ski gear and boys would still gawk at her. She was a very, very pretty girl.  
  
There was no way he'd ever say this out loud, but sometimes the Professor wished she were uglier. Not a lot, just enough to, you know, repel interest from boys. That was reasonable, right?  
  
He sighed and looked at Bubbles, next to him in the front seat. She was wearing knee length shorts and a t-shirt over a sky blue one-piece. She had smiled innocently at him prior to getting in the car.  
  
He had been instantly suspicious.  
  
But a thorough search of her bag had produced no hidden bikini tops or two pieces. The worst thing she had on was a pair of ribbon strap wedges...  
  
The Professor pulled into the beach parking lot, and Bubbles leaned forward in her seat.  
  
“I see them! The boys are here!”  
  
“ _No boys_ ,” the Professor automatically said.  
  
Bubbles laughed it off. “Oh, Professor, we're at the beach! There are boys _everywhere_.”  
  
“Then we're going back home,” he announced, shifting into reverse and giving the car some gas.  
  
He didn't budge. He was also, he suddenly noted, a good four feet above the ground. Buttercup had immediately jumped out of the car when they'd first pulled up and was now holding the car up off the asphalt.  
  
“Professor,” she said reproachfully. “ _Seriously_.”  
  
Their father pouted, and the wheels slowly stopped spinning in the air as he took his foot off the accelerator. Buttercup set them down, and her sisters exited the car, shouldering their bags as she unstrapped her board from the top of the car.  
  
“You girls behave,” the Professor said, eyes a little fearful. The girls all sighed.  
  
“Yes, Professor.”  
  
“No going off alone with boys.”  
  
“Yes, Professor.” (Bubbles mumbled, so nobody could be quite sure exactly _what_ she'd said.)  
  
“No... you know, beach blanket bingo or anything like that.”  
  
Buttercup made a face. “What? What _is_ that? How old are you, again?”  
  
“Not under my watch, Professor,” Blossom said stoutly, her expression serious.  
  
“Bingo? What's so bad about bingo?” Bubbles wondered, tilting her head and pursing her lips in thought.  
  
“There's a good chance I won't be able to pick you girls up on account of work—”  
  
“ _Professor_ ,” Buttercup sighed, exasperated. “We'll fly home. No big deal. We're big girls now.”  
  
His lower lip trembled as he looked at them. Buttercup was right. When had they gotten so big?  
  
“I know. But I still love you,” the Professor said, sniffling.  
  
The girls shifted uncomfortably. He kept doing this a lot, lately...  
  
They each leaned in, in turn, to peck him on the cheek. “Love you too, Professor,” they said in unison.  
  
A teary-eyed Professor drove away, the girls waving after him. Bubbles continued to do so long after he was out of sight. Buttercup and Blossom waited until their sister had finally lowered her hand.  
  
“He's gone,” Bubbles said, a little sadly.  
  
“Yep,” Buttercup agreed. “Ready?”  
  
Bubbles whipped off her t-shirt and shorts as Buttercup covered her with her towel.  
  
Blossom sputtered, “W-What are you—”  
  
Bubbles emerged from the towel bikini-clad with her one piece in hand. Granted, as bikinis went it was very cute and modest, but—  
  
“ _What are you doing_?!” Blossom clamored. “And—and where were you _hiding_ that?!”  
  
“Stuffed in the pockets of my shorts,” Bubbles explained, putting on a pair of sunglasses and covering Buttercup with the towel now. Buttercup reappeared in what had originally been Bubbles' t-shirt and shorts.  
  
Blossom noted the strings of what appeared to be another bikini top poking out from under her shirt collar.  
  
“You too, Buttercup?”  
  
“I'm not wearing a wetsuit in this weather,” Buttercup grumbled with a faint blush dusting her cheeks. She rolled her suit up and stuffed it into Blossom's bag. “Let's go!”  
  
Buttercup and Bubbles went flying into the air across the beach, laughing and hollering to grab their friends' attention. Blossom trailed after her sisters in a more subdued manner.  
  
 _Brick's not here_ , she noted as she scanned the beach. Not that it mattered. Not really.  
  
.~.  
  
Butch kept slapping Boomer around with his surfboard and trying to steal his sunglasses. It wasn't like it hurt, but it was getting kind of annoying, and Boomer was glad when the girls arrived because it distracted Butch. Also Bubbles looked ridiculously adorable in her swimsuit.  
  
She beamed at them (mostly him, he noticed with a smug grin). “Hey guys!” He was then treated to a drool-inducing view of her swimsuit-clad back as she turned and waved at Mike, who was setting up around the fire pit amidst more of their friends. A number of them waved back.  
  
“Hey yourself,” he said admiringly, and was delighted when she looked back at him and blushed.  
  
“Yo. Been out there yet?” Buttercup asked Butch, tossing her head at the ocean.  
  
“Nope.” He sneered. “Waitin' for you to come so I got someone to upstage when I do.”  
  
She rolled her eyes. “Riiiiiight.”  
  
Blossom glanced furtively up and down the beach, trying to look inconspicuous.  
  
“Hey,” Bubbles said, looking around. “Where's Brick? Did he not come?”  
  
Butch snorted. “Naw, he's here. Wandering around the beach, all 'dark and lonely as a cloud,' or some shit like that.”  
  
“Language,” Blossom mumbled under her breath as she dug around in her bag.  
  
Boomer kept staring at Bubbles and grinning. “You're looking mighty cute today.”  
  
Bubbles took off her sunglasses to look at him properly. “Thank you,” she said, sheepish.  
  
“Shoot. I forgot my sunglasses,” Blossom muttered. Bubbles immediately held hers out to her sister, never once breaking eye contact with Boomer. “Oh, thanks Bubbles.”  
  
“Don't mention it,” she said dimly.  
  
“Well, I'll see you guys later,” Blossom said. “I'm going to go read—”  
  
“Wait, what?” Butch, who'd been doodling something crude in the sand, looked a little put out. “You come to the beach and you're going to _read_?”  
  
“Let her be,” Buttercup said dismissively, adding to Butch's handiwork by digging into the sand with her board. “She's got a favorite spot and everything. Can't talk her out of it.”  
  
Blossom caught sight of what Butch and Buttercup were up to and iced over.  
  
“ _What in God’s name are you two drawing_?”  
  
Butch and Buttercup instantly kicked sand over the lewd picture they’d just scrawled.  
  
“Nuthin’,” they muttered in unison.  
  
Blossom shot them a look of disgust and took off towards the north end of the beach.  
  
“I think she just took off with my sunglasses,” Bubbles said, still staring at Boomer.  
  
“Here.” He slid his off and extended them to her, his blue eyes twinkling. “You can use mine.”  
  
“Oh, Blossom, I hate to see you leave, but I sure do _love_ to watch you go,” Butch said in a strangled little voice.  
  
“ _I heard that_!” Blossom’s irritated cry rang back over the sound of crashing waves.  
  
“ _Good_!” Butch bellowed back. “ _Because I think you’re HOT and_ —”  
  
“Hey, Casanova, cool it for a second.” Buttercup snatched up her board and pointed at the sea. “We’ve got some nice waves coming in.”  
  
“Hm, Hot Girl vs. Nice Waves isn’t really what I’d call a contest— _Hey_!” Buttercup had grabbed his board and hurled it like a javelin into the middle of the ocean. With a gleeful cackle she spun off after it, aiming her board for the water.  
  
“That stupid…” Butch continued muttering under his breath as he took off after her. Bubbles and Boomer remained firmly entrenched in their own little world.  
  
“… So, do you want ‘em or not?”  
  
Bubbles blinked. “Huh?”  
  
He held up the sunglasses in his hand. “These?”  
  
“Oh!” Blushing, Bubbles gingerly plucked them from his hand. “Um, thank you.” The cute little way he kept grinning at her was, for some crazy reason, making her all kinds of shy, so she turned away a little as she tried to put them on.  
  
“I guess it’s just us two, huh?” Boomer said conversationally, indicating their absent siblings with a look and a shrug.  
  
“Yeah, I guess… whoops!” The sunglasses she’d been fumbling with slipped back down her face and hit the sand. She started giggling and blushing again. Augh, she had to stop doing that! “They’re too big for me,” she laughed apologetically as she picked them up. “Here. You should have them back.”  
  
He was still looking at her with that goofy grin on his face, even as he took his glasses back and fitted them over his own eyes.  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
She meant to do something other than blush more, giggle like an idiot, and turn away, but she wasn’t doing well with coherent thinking. She blushed, giggled, and turned away.  
  
With her back to him, Bubbles could imagine any number of scenarios taking place, and all of them started with Boomer coming up behind her, brushing her hair back, and whispering in a soft, gentle voice—  
  
“I like your swimsuit.”  
  
She turned to see him still situated a respectable distance away and entertained a brief twinge of disappointment before she had the sense to stop herself.  
  
There wasn't anything wrong with flirting. She knew that. Even though all it was really doing was making the impending heartbreak that much more miserable. The boys were leaving next week. But it made Bubbles happy to talk to Boomer. No matter how small the happiness, she'd take it. In moderation, of course.  
  
She tossed her head back at the group by the fire pit. “Let's go see what they're up to.”  
  
.~.  
  
The wind whipped Brick's open shirt around him as he walked.  
  
It wasn’t a habit of Brick’s to advertise things he liked, save for solitude, but that was a dead giveaway since he had a tendency to issue death glares at anyone who got within five feet of him. He liked movement, too, at least when he wasn’t thinking about things like coups and plans and his future. So he was very much enjoying his solitary stroll along the beach, the sound of the crashing waves a perfect backdrop against his clear, currently non-scheming mind. The faint knowledge that soon he and his brothers would be returning “home” and he could get back on with the couping and the planning and the scheming filled him with nothing short of excited anticipation. He liked all those things.  
  
He also liked pretty girls, even if he wasn't keen on _their_ attention all the time. The weather was gorgeous, and the pretty girls were out in full force. He liked to think he was perusing a Girl Museum—no touching, just looking.  
  
At least until the temptation was too strong to ignore.  
  
Eventually the sand gave way to a giant pile of jagged, sun-bleached rocks, blocking the path further along the beach. It went on for what looked like another twenty feet before it became sand again.   
  
Just beyond that he could see one of his particular favorite varieties of girl, settling on a sand dune—a demurely seated, pretty little thing wrapped in a long skirt and a large, floppy sun hat. What really did him in was the copy of Camus' _The Stranger_ in her hands.   
  
The hat was simultaneously masking most of her face and blocking him from her view. He thought it only polite to go and introduce himself.  
  
He floated over, quickly and quietly, and hovered as he leaned close and said in a low, gravelly voice, “Odd reading material for the beach, isn't it?”  
  
The girl gasped and jumped, twisting up to look at him.  
  
Brick dropped his Flirting Face and stared. _Oh, SHIT_.  
  
“Brick!” Blossom said in surprise, her face coloring.  
  
There was no way he could make a hasty getaway; it was too late. He cursed himself. _Museum_! _You're at a museum_! _You're just supposed to look, not touch, and DEFINITELY NOT TALK TO THE PIECES BECAUSE ONLY CRAZY PEOPLE DO THAT_!  
  
Blossom looked as if she was still getting over the shock. “Wh-what are you doing here?”  
  
He blinked, then vaguely indicated the beach. “Walkin'.”  
  
“Oh yeah, Butch... he mentioned that.”  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
She looked around them at the dune she was perched upon.  
  
“This is, er, my favorite spot,” she said. She pointed back south. “I've got a great view of the coast from here, all the way down to the pier. So I can keep an eye on things, you know. And it's pretty private; no one comes down here with all those rocks in the way.”  
  
“I didn't hear you fly over.”  
  
She fidgeted with her hoodie and closed it over her chest. A shame; he didn't find it entirely necessary. It wasn't like he was looking or anything. At _all_.  
  
“The waves are pretty loud,” she said. “I didn't see you walking.”  
  
He turned and looked back down the beach. “There are a lot of people around. I mean, over on the other side of the rocks.”  
  
She followed his gaze. “Yeah.”  
  
The wind picked up suddenly, and Blossom's hat flew off her head, threatening to sail over Brick. She yelped and shot up, diving after it, but Brick had reflexively grabbed it, so she wound up crashing into his bare chest, which the wind had graciously exposed for her.  
  
They both froze at the contact, Brick's arm still outstretched, his hand clutching her hat.  
  
Blossom stepped back hastily, blushing to the dust and directing her eyes at the sand and not at the favor the wind had done her.  
  
“Thank you,” she said meekly, reaching a hand in the direction of her hat.  
  
The wind picked up again now, in the _opposite_ direction—and her wrap billowed around her legs, her very, very _nice_ legs, and her hoodie flew open, and then Brick felt a little drool pooling under his tongue and had to swallow it down.  
  
“Here,” he said, thrusting her hat into her hands and pretending not to stare at... well, pretty much at anything. “Take it before it flies away again.” His voice sounded weird. It was like he was talking with marbles in his mouth. He swallowed again.  
  
“Hey, Brick!”  
  
He whipped around to see a soaked, grinning Butch. “There you are. They're firing up the grill.”  
  
“Already?” Brick said dubiously. Blossom peered over his shoulder, and the smile on Butch's face faded as he glanced from his brother to her and back.  
  
“Some of us are starving,” he said.  
  
“It's already past noon,” Blossom added, glancing at her watch.  
  
“I guess that makes sense, then.” Brick resisted the urge to turn back to her and instead took flight, immediately heading back for the group.  
  
Butch looked back at Blossom, who was gathering up her bag and towel.  
  
“Need a hand?”  
  
“I got it,” she said, shouldering her burden. She paused and gave him a wary glance. “Um... but thank you.”  
  
Butch watched as she floated past. “Yeah.”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup's shirt had been soaked through—it _had_ been a kickass series of waves—but the fabric was now rapidly drying as she manned the grill over the fire pit. She looked up as Brick, Blossom, and a grim-faced Butch joined them.  
  
“Burgers'll be done in just a minute,” she announced, swatting away Boomer's hand as it drifted towards the fire. He pouted.  
  
Blossom set her stuff down and scurried up. “Do you need me to do anything?”  
  
“There's a fifteen foot perimeter around the grill that is a 'No Blossom' zone,” Buttercup replied, voice flat.  
  
Indignation overtook Blossom's expression. “Hey!”  
  
“Blossom, you're a disaster waiting to happen when cooking's involved. Bubbles, get her outta here.”  
  
“Someone play volleyball with me,” Butch suddenly announced to the group. Nobody answered him.  
  
“Buttercup, I'm just offering to help—”  
  
“Seriously, someone play volleyball with me or heads are gonna roll.”  
  
“I'll play,” Mike volunteered.  
  
“Ooh,” Robin commented. “Brave man.”  
  
A sudden crash from the direction of the fire pit sounded, and everybody turned to see a pile of burger patties cooling in the sand. Buttercup was glaring at Blossom, tongs in hand. Blossom stared at the ruined meat.  
  
“I have no idea how I did that,” she said, dumbfounded.  
  
Five minutes later Blossom was pouting an obedient fifteen feet away from the grill while Buttercup got another round of burgers going and everybody watched Mike get his ass handed to him in volleyball by Butch.  
  
“How many points are we playing to, anyway?” Mike said after Butch scored what felt like his fiftieth point.  
  
“'Points?' Who's fucking keeping score?” Butch made a face.  
  
“Come on, Mike!” the Floydjoydsen twins cried. “You're an athlete, for crying out loud!”  
  
“And he's an athlete with superpowers!” Mike shouted back.  
  
“Go Mike!” Robin cheered, and Mike got a volleyball in the face.  
  
“Okay, I've done my time,” Mike declared, pinching his nose as he rolled the ball back to Butch. “For the record? _Ow_.”  
  
Butch wasn't done. “Someone else get their ass up here!”  
  
“Butch, shut up,” Brick called out.  
  
“ _Fuck you_!”  
  
“Language!” Blossom's voice cried, in the distance.  
  
“I'm gonna go keep her company,” Robin said.  
  
“Me too,” Mike said, rubbing his nose. “It's too dangerous over here.”  
  
“Hey, Buttercup,” Boomer said, mouth watering as he stared at the grill. “You should, you know, step away from the burgers for a bit and go keep Butch occupied.”  
  
“Fine,” Buttercup sighed. “Who's going to take over? Bubbles, you don't do meat.”  
  
“Me,” Boomer immediately volunteered. He was ignored.  
  
Bubbles was seated and looking over at Brick, standing by his lonesome a little ways away from the group.  
  
“Hey, Brick! Come help us!”  
  
“Aww,” Boomer groaned, staring longingly at the sizzling burgers.  
  
Brick issued her a weird look. She rolled her eyes and stood up, and in a blur of blue Brick was at the grill with the tongs in his hand.  
  
He blinked. “What the—”  
  
“Get grillin',” Bubbles chirped, guiding his hand to flip over the patties.  
  
Boomer looked distraught at the physical contact. “Hey! First you take my burger duties and now you take my girl?”  
  
“I didn't think I was anybody's girl,” Bubbles said innocently.  
  
“You can have her,” Brick muttered under his breath. All the same, he didn't bat her hand away. Blossom's attention drifted from Robin and Mike to the goings-on at the fire pit.  
  
“All right, Pencildick,” Buttercup said, holding her hand up as she took her place on the other side of the net. “Let's go. I'll show you how it's done.”  
  
Butch's stony expression had been taken over by a delighted sneer when Buttercup had sauntered forth. As he delivered the first serve, all of Buttercup's friends scrambled forward to watch the game. Mitch stayed at the back, but his eyes were glued to the match as well.  
  
“Okay, they look about ready,” Brick announced after a couple more minutes had passed, and several people cheered.  
  
“How'd you learn to cook?” Bubbles asked as she and Kim passed plates and buns around. After the initial urging, she hadn't needed to direct him at the grill.  
  
Brick smacked Boomer's hand away (“Hey! They're _done_ now! Can't I have _any_?”) and replied, “Anyone who can read can learn to cook.”  
  
“Not really,” Bubbles mumbled, darting a glance at Blossom.  
  
“Butch!” Boomer yelled. “Want a burger?”  
  
“Hold on, I need to clean the grill and get some veggies on there,” Bubbles said.  
  
“We don't have enough patties to go around,” Robin observed.  
  
“Gimme one,” Boomer said desperately. He was ignored.  
  
“Mike, why didn't you grab another fire pit?”  
  
“They were all taken! It's the summer, Bobby! Why didn't _you_ bring your extra grill like you were supposed to?”  
  
“I can wait to eat,” Blossom volunteered.  
  
“Me too,” Buttercup said, spiking the ball.  
  
“Me three,” Butch said, easily returning it.  
  
“I don't have a choice,” Bubbles said, arranging her veggies on the grill.  
  
“Of course you have a choice,” Brick scoffed. “You _choose_ to be a dirty hippie and not eat meat.”  
  
Bubbles pouted. “I'm not dirty.”  
  
“Wouldn't object to it,” Boomer said under his breath.  
  
“Was that a sex joke?” Blossom asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Did you just make a sex joke at my sister?”  
  
“Here, Boomer,” Bubbles said, handing him a plate. “I saved you a burger.”  
  
He went moist. “You are the _best_.”  
  
“Brick, you should have one, too. You did a bit of the work.”  
  
“ _I_ did most of the work,” Buttercup chimed in as she served the ball. “Not complaining, just pointing it out.”  
  
“Floyd, Lloyd, Harry! Mitch, you too. You guys mind waiting for burgers?”  
  
“No,” they said in unison, all eyes riveted to Buttercup. Any minute now...  
  
While the air coming off the ocean was cool, the sun was pretty intense, and Buttercup and Butch were both working up a good sweat, finally. Buttercup's previously dry shirt was beginning to soak through.  
  
Mike sat next to his friends, burger in hand. “You guys keeping score?”  
  
“Huh...” they all intoned dimly.  
  
Mike followed their gaze as Robin took a seat next to him. “Oh.”  
  
Blossom munched on some chips a scant five feet away from the fire; Bubbles wasn't as strict as Buttercup. She glanced at Brick as he popped open a soda, his attention vaguely on the volleyball game.  
  
“Say,” she blurted, and he looked at her. She refrained from swallowing and said, “Earlier, you said _The Stranger_ was a weird choice for the beach. I was just wondering—”  
  
“Wondering why?” he finished. “Have you read it?”  
  
“Yeah—”  
  
“Then you know _his_ trip to the beach doesn't exactly end well,” Brick pointed out.  
  
“Oh. Well, no, it doesn't. I see your point.”  
  
“Plus, I didn't come here expecting to run into a girl that reads Camus.”  
  
Blossom struggled with this for a second, unsure whether to take it as a personal compliment or an insult to womankind.  
  
“What's _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
He shrugged. “I guess it means you're not like other girls.”  
  
The thought of it being an insult flew out of her mind and she paused, a familiar little tremble doing its familiar little dance in her chest. Brick blinked and abruptly looked very unhappy with himself. He threw all his attention into sucking down his soda.  
  
“Veggies are done, if anyone wants any!” Bubbles announced.  
  
“I can, um, sure,” Blossom said, and turned to take her place in the very short line.  
  
At the volleyball net, Buttercup held up a hand as Butch rolled her the ball for her serve.  
  
“Wait,” she breathed, stopping the ball with her foot and grasping the hem of her shirt.  
  
At the sidelines, the boys that had gathered leaned as one. Buttercup caught the movement and issued a scathing glare at them. Her friends retained the sensibility to look occupied with other things.  
  
“If I hear one fucking word out of you guys...” she said darkly, directing her hard eyes at Butch, too...  
  
He blinked.  
  
Some of the boys later claimed a chorus of _Hallelujah_ had echoed in the skies at first sight of Buttercup's toned stomach. Others argued the music didn't start until the shirt had passed into higher, holier territory.  
  
Somewhere back in the vicinity of the Powerpuff Girls' home, Professor Utonium felt a sudden chill.  
  
“Ugh, much better.” Buttercup wiped the sweat off her brow with her balled up shirt, then patted her chest and what she could reach of her back.  
  
Every male head was angled in Buttercup's direction. Even Brick's, who tilted his plate and then had to scramble to save his burger from taking a nosedive into the sand.  
  
 _I didn't get_ that _good a view when Butch stripped her shirt off that one time_ , he thought.  
  
Only Boomer was oblivious, happily watching Bubbles dig into her food.  
  
“You even _eat_ cute,” he observed.  
  
Buttercup tossed her shirt away, and there was a mad scuffle for it in the general direction of the group. She blinked at a catatonic Butch, then narrowed her eyes.  
  
“What?”  
  
He took in those broad shoulders, that flat tummy, the slight curve of her breasts cloaked in her bathing suit top. Then:  
  
“ _Dude_.” He gaped. “Buttercup, your arms are so cut I'm not even staring at your _tits_.”  
  
She spiked the ball with unprecedented force, shooting it straight into his face.  
  
Robin peered over Mike at the rest of the boys. “Are they okay?”  
  
“Nothing a burger won't fix,” he said, standing up and dusting off his trunks. “I'll get another batch started.”  
  
Buttercup's last serve had knocked Butch out cold. She kicked him over to the group, where he rolled to a stop. There was a faint groan from the Butch-shaped lump.  
  
“Alright!” she whooped. “I'm just getting started. Who's next?”  
  
“Buttercup, aren't you hungry yet?” Bubbles called as Boomer took a piece of squash off her plate and nibbled it experimentally.  
  
“I've still gotta cook 'em,” Mike added. “The burgers, I mean.”  
  
Buttercup scanned the group—most of the boys seemed to be brain-dead. Everybody else was eating, Mike was cooking, Butch was possibly _really_ dead, and—  
  
Blossom had eaten the last of her veggies when Buttercup cried out, “Red! Let's go!”  
  
Brick furrowed his brow, burger in mouth. “Mmph?”  
  
“No, me,” Blossom sighed, setting her plate down and taking off her hat. “I just ate!” she complained, but she floated over anyway.  
  
“I didn't think sports was Blossom's thing,” Boomer observed.  
  
“Oh no, she did everything back in middle school,” Bubbles said. “Sports, music—they didn't have a dance troop in school then. She did just about everything except Home Ec, and that was because they _banned_ her.”  
  
Blossom's skirt billowed around her as she took her place on the other side of the net. Buttercup noted it and smirked.  
  
One by one, the boys snapped back to. Bubbles joined Robin at the front, and after a while so did Kim. A minute into the game they started to cover the unconscious Butch with sand.  
  
Buttercup was faring far better than her sister, who kept getting hung up on her long skirt—it didn't exactly make playing volleyball easy.  
  
“Ten-three!” Buttercup cackled as she tossed the ball to Blossom for her serve.  
  
“Blossom, just take that thing off,” Bubbles called. Several boys twitched. Brick stood by the grill and pretended to observe Mike's cooking. “If you have any intention of winning, that is.”  
  
Blossom rolled the ball in her hands uneasily, glancing at the group. Everybody seemed to be looking in any direction except the game. Some of the boys were whistling innocently. Bubbles, Kim, and Robin seemed really focused on that giant pile of sand they were making.  
  
“Come on, Leader Girl,” Buttercup crowed, cocking her hands on her hips. “I don't got all day.”  
  
Blossom narrowed her eyes and dropped the ball into the sand, reaching to undo the tie of the skirt. As the skirt dropped away to reveal those infamous dancer's legs of hers, the sound of the crashing waves did a wonderful job of masking the collective sigh from the boys in their group. Back home, the Professor had the sudden compulsion to annihilate every teenage male that existed. He squeezed a stress ball for about ten minutes and then made himself some tea after it burst.  
  
The pile of sand Bubbles and her friends were working on exploded, and they shrieked as Butch pointed and opened his mouth in a silent scream. Over by the grill, Brick buckled to his knees.  
  
“Are you okay?” Mike said, bending over him.  
  
“I'm fine,” Brick said weakly.  
  
 _Was that a faint? Did I just faint? Fuck me, I think I just fainted_ , he thought torpidly.  
  
After shrugging off her hoodie and tying it around her waist (the boys were unsure whether to be disappointed or delighted), Blossom spiked the ball and Buttercup narrowly missed it, hitting the sand.  
  
“Four-ten.” Blossom smirked.  
  
Her newly acquired mobility made Blossom a much more able competitor. The game went back and forth until Mike was done cooking, and at that point, Blossom had just pulled out ahead. She was exercising what she considered some well-earned gloating privileges.  
  
“Who kicked your butt?” she said smugly as she and Buttercup strode up to claim their lunch. She raised a hand and mock-gasped. “Oh my gosh! I think it was me!”  
  
“You're lucky I played a game before you,” Buttercup grumbled. “You wouldn't have done as well if we'd _both_ been fresh going into that game.”  
  
“This isn't fair,” Robin complained in an undertone to Bubbles and Kim. “The boys are getting all the good stuff. Where's the eye candy for the ladies?” She pointed at the volleyball net. “I need some sweaty boys huffing and puffing up there, stat.”  
  
“Blossom!” Bubbles called out. “Aren't you going to put your clothes back on?”  
  
“Oh my _God_ ,” Butch groaned in a pained voice, clutching at his head. “Stop. Please. You're killing me. I need a Distraction Burger.”  
  
Blossom went beet red and zipped back to get her skirt on.  
  
“I want to play!” Boomer said excitedly. Brick eyed him.  
  
“You've been stuffing your face since this grill's been going,” he said reproachfully. “ _Now_ you want to play?”  
  
Boomer ignored Brick and grabbed his brother by the arm.  
  
“Come on, Brick! Let's go!”  
  
“Wait a min—”  
  
Boomer flung his leader over the heads of their friends, where he stumbled face first into the pole.  
  
“ _Ow_! You little shit—”  
  
Butch stood—he'd just inhaled three burgers in a row—and said, his voice muffled, “Me phoo!”  
  
“What?” Brick rubbed his forehead and glared sideways at his brothers as they approached the net. “How are we going to play with three?”  
  
“Me and him against you,” Boomer explained, as if it were obvious.  
  
“ _What_?!”  
  
“Really, to make it fair, we oughtta get another person on our team,” Butch muttered.  
  
“Okay, now I need some popcorn,” Robin announced. “Please tell me someone brought popcorn.”  
  
Brick was not going to be convinced and started back for the group.  
  
“Forget it. You boys can go play with yoursel—”  
  
Butch snatched the collar of his brother's shirt as he passed by and yanked him back, while Boomer grabbed an arm and started to wrestle him over to the net.  
  
“ _Hey_!”  
  
“It's easier if you don't struggle,” Boomer grunted.  
  
“Ha! That's what she said!” Butch chortled.  
  
Suddenly Brick twisted out of his brothers' grips, a weird, sinewy movement—more of a slither, really—and turned to glare at them. His brothers blinked in confusion at the shirt they were clutching between them.  
  
Several stifled girlish squeals echoed from the group. Blossom's burger somehow landed back in the fire pit. Buttercup inhaled her soda—literally—and started hacking it back up. Robin clutched at Bubbles.  
  
“Please pinch me,” Robin hissed determinedly, “because I’m pretty sure Brick taking his shirt off would only happen in a _dream_.” On the other side of her, Kim furtively started snapping photos. Somewhere back behind them, Blossom located her hat and hid her red face behind it.  
  
Boomer pouted. “Aww, _Briiiiiiiiick_! Play with us!”  
  
“Brick, be nice to your brothers and play with them,” Bubbles said innocently.  
  
He threw her a furious look. “Excuse me?! Who are you ordering around, exactly?”  
  
She cocked her head. “Come to think of it, I'm not sure. This sun's pretty bright, and you don't have a shirt on. Could you come closer so I can get a better look?”  
  
“ _No_!”  
  
“Hey!” Boomer cried. “I don't have a shirt on, either!”  
  
“Good for you,” Bubbles said cheerfully. Boomer didn't seem comforted by this.  
  
“Brick, you look pretty chilly,” he said, his tone deathly serious. “You'd better put this back on—”  
  
A sudden green blast incinerated the shirt in Boomer's and Butch's hands. Everyone turned to look at Buttercup, steam rising off her mitt.  
  
“Oops. How clumsy of me.”  
  
Brick gaped at her. “You owe me a new shirt!”  
  
“We can go get one now,” Buttercup said without skipping a beat. “Want to?”  
  
“Wh—you just destroyed my clothing!”  
  
“Buttercup!” Robin hissed at her. “Destroy more!”  
  
The rest of the boys looked a bit put out. “Dude! Are we, like, not even here?”  
  
“Shut up,” Buttercup, Robin, and Kim ordered.  
  
“Weren't you guys going to play volleyball?” Bubbles asked.  
  
Buttercup perked up. “Yes, volleyball. Some hot, sweaty volleyball. Doesn't that sound refreshing?”  
  
Something clicked in Butch's brain. “ _Hey_! Cut that out!”  
  
“What? I'm just saying—”  
  
“You're not allowed to find my brother hot!”  
  
“Excuse me?” Blossom lowered her hat and glared. “Who are you to cast stones?”  
  
“Are you hot, Brick?” Buttercup asked in a soothing voice. “Do you need some water? Like, to pour on you?”  
  
Robin made a little fainting noise and Bubbles patted her back. Kim went right on using up the memory in her camera.  
  
“I don't really feel like playing volleyball anymore,” Boomer mumbled bitterly.  
  
Bubbles smiled. “Aw, I'll play with you.”  
  
Boomer lit up. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah.” She turned to Brick. “Brick, you can be on my team.”  
  
Boomer made a strangled sort of noise and dove in front of Brick, blocking Bubbles' view of him.  
  
“Bubbles! _How could you_?!”  
  
“ _Buttercup_!” Butch snapped. “His fucking face is up here!”  
  
“Yeah, that's cool,” she said distractedly, not staring at his face at all. “Faces are cool. I've got one of those.”  
  
Brick—who was mostly indifferent to the attention, but still sore about his shirt—glanced up at Blossom, who seemed to be trying to burrow into her hat. She was flushed, all the way down to her chest, and then she made the mistake of making eye contact with him. With her eyes just peeking out from under the brim of her hat and her teeth biting gently at her lip, the effect was—  
  
Brick felt a sudden warmth rapidly expanding in his own chest and turned, stalking towards the water.  
  
“ _I'm going swimming_ ,” he announced.  
  
“So am I,” Buttercup, Robin, and Kim immediately said, and strode forth.  
  
“Why the fuck does this always happen?!” Butch clamored.  
  
Boomer watched as Bubbles rustled through her things. “Aren't you going swimming?” he mumbled petulantly.  
  
She smiled at him. “No. I'll stay here on the beach with you.”  
  
He dropped the petulance and beamed at her. “You're the bestest, sweetest ever.”  
  
“Besides,” she said, holding up a towel. “Someone's going to have to help Brick dry off when he gets out.”  
  
She draped the towel over her arm and skipped past a blank-faced Boomer.  
  
Over on the side, Blossom's hat muttered something dimly about going for a walk along the edge of the beach, then scuttled directly towards where Brick and the girls had gone.  
  
The rest of the boys stared after them.  
  
“Man,” Harry muttered. “Girls _suck_.”  
  
Butch's gaze flitted from Blossom to her dark-haired sister, and then to his brother.  
  
“No,” he muttered. “Brick sucks.”  
  


.~.  
  
At first it wasn't swimming so much as wading, although once Brick hit the deeper water he did disappear into the distance for awhile. Five minutes later he was swimming back to shore, against the tide.  
  
He stayed up to his neck in the water for a minute. Several females' eyes were on him, waiting for the divine moment when he rose out of the water, dripping. He thought he'd entertain some peace and quiet for a little longer before he gave them the satisfaction.  
  
His gaze drifted along the shore to Blossom, who was most definitely not looking at him because she was very concentrated on studying the sand. She had gathered up her skirt in her arms, up around her waist, and was letting the water come up to her knees. The boys, still back by the volleyball net, were torn between gazing lustily upon Blossom and glaring traitorously at the girls fixated on Brick.  
  
As he made his way to shore (and ignored Blossom, plus the high-pitched keening noises coming from the girls), he heard something else and paused.  
  
It was an almost imperceptible high-pitched whine. For some reason it was setting off warning alarms in his head like crazy... he knew that sound, or should know that sound...  
  
He turned and looked up into the sky. Nothing in that endless blue, save for—  
  
“Do you hear that?” Blossom suddenly said, her brow furrowed.  
  
“Hear what?” Bubbles asked.  
  
“It's like... like this high buzzing noise,” Blossom said, looking around.  
  
“I don't hear anything,” Butch said.  
  
“No, there it is—I hear it, too,” Boomer said.  
  
Robin and Kim exchanged confused glances. “What are you guys talking about?”  
  
Buttercup cocked her head to the side, concentrating. “It's getting louder. What _is_ that?”  
  
Blossom's gaze fell on Brick, whose was staring up at the sky looking like he'd just been punched in the gut.  
  
“Brick?”  
  
 _Mine_ , he thought, the word frantic in his brain. _That's mine, mine, what the fuck is it doing here, what the FUCK_ —  
  
A dark triangle of black suddenly _whooshed_ over them, only visible to those with supersight, high up in the air. Brick took off after it.  
  
He heard a round of voices cry out after him but didn't turn to see whether they'd followed. Maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe it wasn't his.  
  
The closer he drew the more he knew it was an empty hope. He'd know that aircraft anywhere. He'd only spent weeks upon weeks sketching and designing and re-designing it, even if he'd never had a hand in its construction. At Smith's recommendation—Brick hadn't wanted to keep it at their headquarters where too many board members were liable to discover it—construction had been done off-site, and communication had been very limited in case someone got wise to what they were doing. People in charge tended not to like Brick very much.  
  
As an added precaution Brick had asked Smith to cease production on it while he was gone; without him around JS to act as watchdog he didn't want to take any chances. Not even his brothers knew about this. It wasn't supposed to be _out_ ; fuck, it wasn't even supposed to be _done_ for another five months! And what the hell was it doing here, in Townsville?! Why would Smith do this?!  
  
He slowed as he flew just beyond its range of detection—he had designed it to pick up on spikes of Chemical X, fuck, fuck, he had only done that to sell it to Smith, to show him how completely trustworthy he was—  
  
A multicolored flash surged by, interrupting his thoughts. The girls were flying ahead of him, and he swore under his breath.  
  
“Stop!” he shouted, but the lasers had already kicked in, swiveling around and firing.  
  
A shield of green flickered in front of them to block the beams—  
  
But the beams passed through anyway. It was as if they displaced the tiniest area of shield around it, and luckily the girls had the sense to dodge them despite the shield. Brick had to spiral out of the line of fire himself.  
  
 _He wouldn't_ , Brick thought frantically to himself. The lasers should've bounced off, unless...  
  
“Pull back!” he yelled as the fighter fired again.  
  
“How did that thing burn through my fucking shield?!” Butch cried as he came up beside his brother.  
  
Brick ignored him and shouted, “ _Hey_! Pull back!”  
  
Blossom halted and glanced back, but her sisters kept flying—  
  
Brick gritted his teeth and surged forward—he couldn't grab both of them, and Bubbles was closest. He tackled her around the waist and as she yelped he dragged her down, narrowly avoiding the lasers.  
  
“Wh-what are you doing?!” she cried.  
  
“Getting you out of range,” he said, watching as the fighter carried on. Butch, in a rare show of intelligence, had taken a cue from Brick and grabbed Buttercup. They were now struggling with each other as the fighter sailed away.  
  
Boomer was hovering with Blossom as all six of them came together.  
  
“That thing looks like a military aircraft,” Blossom said as she watched it grow smaller and smaller.  
  
“Why would the military be testing here?” Buttercup wondered.  
  
“Is it one of Mojo's?” Bubbles suggested. “It did fire at us—”  
  
“If it was Mojo's then it'd still be after us,” Buttercup pointed out.  
  
“There's nobody in there,” Blossom said, suddenly looking at Brick. “I got close enough to see. There's no way that thing could have a person inside it.”  
  
“How do you know?” Boomer asked.  
  
“It's too sleek and thin. Brick,” she said, and suddenly all eyes were on him. “How did you know where to stop before the lasers started firing?”  
  
He stared at her. He shouldn't have told them to pull back. If he hadn't said anything, he could have pretended he'd been playing it safe, but—  
  
“Um, you know how we said it wasn't Mojo because it wasn't after us anymore?” Bubbles said, and everyone's attention drifted to her. She was staring at a rapidly approaching black dot. “I don't think we should completely rule Mojo out.”  
  
Laserbeams shot toward them, and they all careened out of the way in six different directions. Blossom shouted an order, and her sisters fell into formation, attempting an ambush attack.  
  
Brick, after flying a ways away, paused and hovered, tracking the path of the fighter as the girls pursued it, ducking its fire. Fire that had pierced through Butch's shield.  
  
When he thought about it—and the very idea made him sick to his stomach, sick with himself—Smith had betrayed him. Why else would he infuse the fighter's weaponry with Antidote X, then send it flying over Townsville, where he had sent the boys on vacation? He had clearly taken the opportunity of Brick not being there to accelerate completion of the fighter. And if he'd pushed that ahead, he'd probably taken Brick's other two projects and—  
  
The mere thought had Brick practically choking with anger. He'd trusted him! Fuck! And now the aircraft's computer would be collecting data on this. Data on how to destroy him and his brothers if he didn't destroy it first.  
  
His siblings and the girls were exerting way more Chemical X than he was just floating there, so the fighter wouldn't come his way. He had to break into it. He needed to bust open the hull and destroy the aircraft's computer before JS could get their hands on it. But he couldn't fly at it head-on. If he got too close the aircraft would twist away from him and fire...  
  
He took a deep breath and dove to join them. It was a miracle no one had been hit yet.  
  
“Where the hell are you chasing it?!” he called to Blossom, at the head of the group. 'Chasing' might have been poor word choice; they were going back and forth so much it was hard to tell who was chasing who.  
  
“I'm trying to get it as far away from land as possible!” she cried back. Trust the hero to place civilian safety stupidly high on her list. He rolled his eyes.  
  
“Butch! Boomer!” he ordered, and his brothers pulled up alongside him, dodging the fire. “You two, get in front of it and fucking _fly_. Make sure it's on your tail, not the girls'—it's detecting Chemical X and the more you expend, the more of a target you become. Fire your beams, shields, whatever, I don't fucking care! Keep that up for about five seconds, then lead it back around this way. Keep it right at the altitude we're at now.”  
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” Boomer asked.  
  
“I'm going to tear that fucker apart,” Brick said, the words sounding hollow and dead in his mouth.  
  
As his brothers flew ahead, Brick angled upward for a couple hundred feet, then turned to watch. Butch and Boomer were succeeding in commanding the aircraft's attention and looked about ready to turn it around. Blossom was screaming at them, trying to get them to tell her what they were up to.  
  
 _Three years_ , Brick thought bitterly to himself. _Three fucking years of all that fucking work, down the God damn fucking drain_. But it wasn't just three, no, this had been going on his entire life. His entire life was a fucking waste of time, spent on stupid shit under the tutelage of idiot so-called father figures who had nothing better to do but chase around three little girls with superpowers when they could've had the fucking world at their command—  
  
The fighter was coming back. He had to time this just right. _Count to three, and then_...  
  
Brick stopped flying and let himself fall backwards, bracing himself for impact.  
  
He'd been close enough that he could've reached out and grabbed his brothers if he'd dropped any earlier. He crashed into the metal, his shoulders denting it, and as he grabbed on he suddenly heard the top lasers whirring around. His aim was perfect. He'd landed right between them.  
  
He twisted and pushed away as they fell for the oldest trick in the book and fired, destroying each other in the process. Unfortunately, one of the beams grazed the back of his hand as he pulled it away, and he bit back a cry as a deep red welt surfaced on his skin. _Shit_ , he thought. He couldn't afford to fuck up his fucking hands if he was going to do this.  
  
The fighter suddenly angled to the right, trying to throw him off, and Brick punched into the hull as close to the computer as he could get, clinging to the metal as the fighter spun into a corkscrew.  
  
He forced it right side up, leveraging it with his legs, and started to tear away at the metal.  
  
Something went wrong as soon as his hands pulled that first hunk off. All of the sudden his body began to feel heavy, fatigued. He almost lost his balance, something that never happened, and had to grasp at the torn hull to keep from falling off. The burn on his hand flared, as if someone was dragging a knife across his skin and actually drawing blood.  
  
Brick stared in horror at the thin wire mesh just underneath the outer metal—no, not mesh. Like an intricate capillary system, leaking tiny, near-microscopic drops of Antidote X. He couldn't get to the computer without going through it first, and he'd already broken through it and made contact with it—  
  
He gritted his teeth and shoved his arms through, grimacing against the pain in his hand. No, he couldn't reach it. Fuck. He had to tear a bigger hole. Already his strength was waning; he could feel it being sucked away. The threat of death loomed over him as his body weakened, the same threat that he imagined every normal human being felt, every single second of every God damned day.  
  
The wind felt less like wind and more like a thousand battering rams coming at him. He had to work to get the next piece off, and the edges of the jagged metal were already staining with blood from his hands. The hole looked barely big enough to fit his arm through, and he still had to go through the netting. He could suddenly feel the fighter readying itself for another corkscrew, as if it knew of Brick's newly acquired vulnerability.  
  
It started to bank left, and Brick clenched at it, the sharp edges of the hull still cutting into his skin and reminding him how much he absolutely hated to be normal.  
  
Something hit the fighter, hard, leveling it out, and Brick almost bounced off from the impact. He lifted his head to see Blossom at the head of the aircraft, leveraging it the way Brick had earlier with her legs and arms.  
  
“What are you doing?!” he screamed, throat protesting as he shredded his vocal cords.  
  
“Helping!” she screamed back, and had to force the aircraft to keep from banking right.  
  
“Where's everybody else?!”  
  
She pointed ahead of them, and now Brick saw it. Their brothers and sisters were all flying together, leading the fighter on and dodging the bottom lasers.  
  
“You're trying to get at the computer?” Blossom shouted, and started to come forward. “Let me help—”  
  
“This thing's drowning in Antidote X! Don't touch it!” The aircraft tried to go into another corkscrew and Blossom immediately steadied it. “Besides, you need to keep it from going upside-down!”  
  
“Then hurry up! They can't dodge those lasers forever!”  
  
Brick swore and raised himself up as best he could on his knees, punching into that Antidote X infused wire netting. It cracked underneath his fist, the wire scratching his skin and drawing blood. He punched again, making a hole just big enough to get his arm through, and _fuck_ , this thing was hot...  
  
He couldn't use his supersight to see, but save for the web of Antidote X, he could still see his blueprint in his head. He knew where it was, how to destroy the computer. But he was going to suffer for it. He'd bleed, get burned.  
  
And he'd be taking down his baby. His brainchild.  
  
 _Three fucking years of all that fucking work, down the God damn fucking drain._  
  
It hurt. It hurt when the web's metal edges clawed at his skin, raked red lines all the way up his arm. It hurt to plunge it into that insufferable heat, so much so that it was a miracle he maintained the presence of mind to not yank it back out because he'd just have to do it again, and with a _burned_ arm it would be that much worse.  
  
His hand closed around his precious baby's brain, and that was the worst. That endless moment of agony before he killed his own.  
  
He clutched and pulled.  
  
With its brain in his bleeding, scarring hand, the stealth fighter ceased fire and began to lose altitude. Brick's stomach was suddenly scuttling up into his chest, his neck, then Blossom lifted off and grabbed him just as the aircraft went into a tailspin.  
  
He watched as it fell away from them, its hull torn apart, dying—no, _dead_ —as it dropped further and further away. Its corpse plunged into the water and disappeared from his sight.  
  
Fuck, it hurt.  
  
It wasn't long before Blossom set him back down on the beach, their siblings trailing behind them. She'd chosen to settle on the dunes. Back on the other side of the rocks, their friends, who'd been watching the water and skies, caught sight of them and began running over.  
  
Brick's numb arm was still grasping part of the aircraft's insides. Blossom reached for it and since he couldn't stop her from taking it, he didn't.  
  
“What is this _from_?” she asked, turning it over and examining it from all angles. She looked up at Brick, her brow furrowed in suspicion. “Why did you hang on to it?”  
  
He stared at her as their siblings landed. “I guess when you're normal you just forget how to let things go.”  
  
She huffed, and her sisters pushed forward to look at it, too. Buttercup was covered in red welts, clearly having made contact with the lasers on several occasions. Bubbles was sporting a number of burns herself.  
  
Brick turned to his brothers. “You two all right?”  
  
“Fine,” Boomer said. “It didn't get me as much as it got Butch.”  
  
True to form, Butch was poking experimentally at every raw patch of skin he had with a sadistic grin on his face.  
  
“Ow. Ow. Ow.”  
  
“We all got off better than you did, though,” Boomer said, his eyes on Brick's arm. Little spots of red were dripping onto the sand.  
  
“Oh my God, Brick, I didn't even see,” Bubbles said, horrified. “What happened?”  
  
“That thing was laced with Antidote X,” Blossom said before he could reply. “There was a small amount in the beams, which explains why our skin scarred instantly when it came in contact with us. From the looks of it, it released it in a much more concentrated form as soon as Brick broke into it.” She kept staring at him like she expected him to make some sudden confession.  
  
“Am I right, Brick?” she asked quietly.  
  
“That's right.”  
  
“Brick you need to wrap that up or something,” Bubbles said, fussing. “Hold on, I'll be right back.”  
  
She took off, and Blossom went back to examining the mess in her hands.  
  
“Who do you think's responsible for this?” Buttercup asked, and Blossom's eyes flicked to Brick's blood on the sand.  
  
“That thing was pretty impressive,” Butch said, staring wistfully at the horizon. “Shame it had to go deep-sea diving.”  
  
Brick clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”  
  
“I think Bubbles was right,” Blossom sighed, and everyone turned to look at her. Brick's eyes widened.  
  
“About what?” Buttercup pressed, then the light bulb seemed to flick on. “You mean Mojo?”  
  
“I didn't get a good look at the guts of the machine,” Blossom said, and held up the parts that Brick had yanked out. “But I've seen the insides of his previous work, and this is remarkably similar to what he's done in the past.”  
  
Unbeknownst to the girls, as he'd grown older Brick had often secretly watched their battles with Mojo. As soon as they'd defeated him (which always happened) and left the scene, Brick would steal behind the police tape and examine the inner workings of the machine for himself, be it giant robot or giant gun or giant robot with giant gun. By age ten he was already in the habit of rummaging through Mojo's garbage, collecting discarded weapons blueprints to study. The stealth aircraft's guts _would_ resemble Mojo's work. That was the only way Brick had learned.  
  
Rummaging through Mojo's garbage hadn't only yielded blueprints. It was also responsible for bringing the boys and JS, Inc. together.  
  
“Besides, who else do you know who has access to Antidote X and would create something designed to release it?” Blossom continued. “That thing was clearly out to get us.”  
  
“Do you have any use for that whatsoever?” Brick asked abruptly, and Blossom glanced up at him.  
  
“No—”  
  
“Butch, fire,” he said, and in a blast of green there was nothing but ash between Blossom's hands.  
  
“Wh-what was _that_ for?!” she cried.  
  
“Safety precaution,” he said flatly. “You don't want Mojo collecting data on how to defeat you, do you?”  
  
“He didn't defeat us,” she corrected in a steely voice.  
  
Brick indicated his arm. “Could've been you with the mangled arm.”  
  
“Hey!” Robin, Mike, and all their friends were waving from the other side of the rocks. “Are you guys okay?”  
  
“We're good!” Buttercup called back. Butch and Boomer waved.  
  
“You couldn't have broken into that thing without me,” Blossom said.  
  
“I know,” Brick sighed, surprising her. “Yeah, I know.” He looked at his arm again, and, after a long moment, said, “Thank you.”  
  
A stunned Blossom blinked at him. Brick wanted this to be over. He needed to go home. He needed to call JS.  
  
“Brick, here,” Bubbles said, reappearing with a towel. She wrapped his arm as gently as she could; Brick hissed against the pain, nonetheless.  
  
“Do you—” Blossom cleared her throat. “Do you have a way of getting your powers back? The Professor's prepped for this kind of thing when it happens to us, if you need—”  
  
“I can take care of it,” he said, then waved at his brothers with his good arm. “Come on. Let's go.”  
  
Boomer and Butch exchanged a glance.  
  
“Um,” Boomer ventured, “does that mean one of us has to carry you?”  
  
.~.  
  
After a brooding flight home (Boomer, for his inquisitiveness, had won the privilege of carrying him) and the standard Chemical X injection to restore his powers, Brick sat in the kitchen, carrying on with the brooding. His brothers wanted to go back to the beach, but Brick ordered them to stay home. He didn't want them going anywhere until he talked to Smith.  
  
He watched his arm as the bleeding stopped and the cuts slowly began to close. The swelling was going down, the redness fading in intensity. His anger, however, was doing the exact opposite.  
  
Once his arm was a respectable pink, Brick stormed into his room, refusing himself the pleasure of physically destroying the entire apartment.  
  
 _Breathe, God damn it_ , he thought viciously to himself as he reached under the desk, stabbed at the console, and the communication screen flickered into life. _He won’t take you seriously if you don’t calm down. Breathe._  
  
He took a few deep, furious breaths, decided that was good enough, and punched in JS’ number. It rang for a good minute before JS picked up.  
  
“ _John_ ,” Brick was talking before the screen could even pick up his face. “What the _fuck_ was my fighter doing out—”  
  
He stopped cold, eyes subsequently widening then narrowing as Darius appeared.  
  
“Brick!” he chirped, eyes lighting up. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Enjoying your vacation?”  
  
“Where’s John?” Brick asked in a steely voice.  
  
Darius peered at Brick's arm. “What's that? A sunburn? Tsk tsk tsk, Brick. Even superbeings such as yourself need sun protection.”  
  
Brick ignored the smug, satisfied smirk on the fucking bastard's face. He _knew_.  
  
“Where's John?”  
  
A thoughtful line appeared between Darius’ eyebrows. “John? I think you’re a little confused.”  
  
“ _The man whose office you’re standing in_ ,” Brick snarled.  
  
Darius blinked and smiled, amused. “Definitely confused, my boy,” he said in a slow, placating tone, and then smirked. “This is my office.” He leant a little closer, as if to better see the temper tantrum he expected. Despite the instantaneous urge to fly into a no holds barred, homicidal rage, particularly at the guy whose image flickered on screen, Brick merely tightened the back of his jaw.  
  
“Is that so? Congratulations.” Brick’s voice was low and forcedly neutral.  
  
Darius—or the new JS—settled back a bit, clearly disappointed.  
  
“So where’s Cole?” Brick continued, referring to the last JS by his given name.  
  
“Out of work.”  
  
“Alive.”  
  
“Not really.” Darius pulled a chair into frame and sat back, tenting his fingers. “Brick, I’m glad you called.”  
  
 _Fuck_. Cole was dead, or as good as, and now that he was gone all his files would be turned over to—  
  
“I spotted a stealth fighter in the area not half an hour ago,” Brick suddenly interjected, keeping his voice level. “I recognized it.” _Mine you fucker. You FUCK. What are you doing with MY PROJECT_ —  
  
“Oh yes, that was ours,” Darius—JS—said, waving a dismissive hand. “One of Cole’s personal files. When he was relieved, the files were turned over to me, being the new JS and all—as I’m sure you’re aware—and I turned it over to the Weapons Division.”  
  
“And sent it on a test run in my immediate area.” Brick’s gaze was cool. Darius sent it there to piss him off. He had to have known the project was Brick’s, so he’d taken it from him and fired it off his way, rubbing his victory in Brick’s face. “You realize,” Brick said quietly, “that the fighter was one of—”  
  
“Yes, Cole had your name attached to it, along with two other projects.” Darius shrugged. “He always had a fondness for you, thought of you as his protégé. But—” He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and smiling at Brick. “I know how much you want to… move up in the company, son.”  
  
Brick’s eyes flared.  
  
“Riding the coattails of a successful man, however, is not the way to do it here.” Darius clapped his hands together and shook his head. “Using Cole’s fondness for you as a means of attaching your name to—”  
  
“Those projects are mine and mine alone,” Brick interrupted. “Cole had next to nothing to do with brainstorming or their execution, he was merely stowing them away for when I returned so they wouldn’t fall into the _wrong hands_.”  
  
“Brick.” Darius reached off-screen for a file and flipped it open. “You expect me to believe that you were developing three projects at once—one each for Weapons, Surveillance, and Specialized Training Sims all by yourself?”  
  
“The original plans are all mine,” he responded. “If I had been able to physically extricate them from the facilities for safekeeping, believe me, I would’ve.”  
  
“Because?”  
  
“Because I want credit where credit’s due.” Brick narrowed his eyes. “Now I’d like for you, Darius—excuse me, _JS_ —to halt further development on said projects until my return. I’ve been working on these for a very long time—”  
  
“I think you forget your age, _son_.” Darius took great pleasure in drawing the last word out. “You’re barely seventeen, and half of these projects date back almost three years ago, which would make you fourteen when you conceived of them. Now, I won’t deny you’ve a sharp mind for your age, but you can’t seriously expect anyone to believe that Cole didn’t help you along with these pets of yours.” He returned the file to its off-screen home and turned his attention back fully to Brick, adopting a smug, conciliatory tone. “This is how the real world works, Brick. You work for things. You _earn_ respect and a position of power. You reap what you sow. Now, I’m going to turn your extra credit work over to their respective divisions and from there on we’ll decide what’s worth pursuing and what isn’t—”  
  
“ _All_ of those projects are ‘worth pursuing,’ and I will _gladly_ relieve you of that decision-making when I return in a week—”  
  
“You don’t seriously expect to return next week, do you?” Darius said in a cold voice, and Brick halted. “Your name is on three ‘secret projects’ that only one man in this company knew about—”  
  
“So you’re admitting these projects have significant value to you—”  
  
“It looks very incriminating, Brick, and frankly, you’ve made it clear to everyone on the board what your aspirations are—”  
  
“The turnover rate on the board is so high no one’s been there more than two years, tops—”  
  
“Your adolescent arrogance doesn’t make you popular—”  
  
“I have been with JS, Inc. for _five years_ with no vacation and twice _the entire board’s_ hours, I know the inner workings of this company inside and out—”  
  
“And even if it weren't for all that, the fact remains that we had to do some extensive work when you failed to keep your brother's destructive streak from committing massive property damage to Townsville.”  
  
Brick stopped and stared blankly at his screen.  
  
“Don't look so surprised, Brick. Who do you think they hired to reconstruct downtown after your brother's little... flight of fancy? You remember us telling you to keep a low profile, right?”  
  
He paused, waiting for Brick to answer. Like a fucking child.  
  
Brick was practically grinding his teeth into fine powder. “I remember.”  
  
“And you couldn't even manage that.” Darius tsked again, shaking his head. “How could you ever expect to lead a company when you can't even keep your team in line? No, best you stick to being a field agent, Brick. Destroying stuff, you know. You're good at that.”  
  
Darius paused again, waiting for the explosion. Brick held back, his fists shuddering with anger.  
  
The man sighed. “But you are right about one thing. You and your brothers _have_ accumulated an inordinate amount of work hours without so much as a day off since you came to the company. Why, you were here three years before me, after all. You _deserve_ a vacation. So really, this isn't so much a punishment for Butch's destruction as it is a 'Thank you' for all your years of hard work. And at such a young age...” Darius smiled. “Enjoy your Senior year, Brick. We'll see you when you graduate.”  
  
The screen flickered off before Brick could respond. Graduate? As in, a _year_?  
  
Brick stared at the empty space above his desk. Then he turned and eyebeamed his bed in a blinding flash of red light.  
  
“ _Fuck_!”  
  
.~.  
  
Boomer tossed an extra set of blankets onto the couch, along with his spare pillow. He glanced at his leader, seated in front of the closed door to his room with his head buried in his hands.  
  
“Um, here, man.”  
  
Brick said and did nothing.  
  
Boomer scratched the back of his head and padded over to him.  
  
“So... a year?”  
  
Still no response.  
  
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced out the window at the darkening sky.  
  
“Good thing I hadn't started packing yet,” he said, a little laughter in his voice.  
  
“Just go,” Brick finally said. “I know you want to, and Butch already left anyway. So just go.”  
  
Boomer fidgeted. “You sure?”  
  
“I order you to get the fuck out of my face and go back to the fucking beach,” Brick snapped.  
  
“Whatever you say, boss,” Boomer replied, and made for the door, grabbing his acoustic along the way. Before he could leave, he turned and looked back at Brick one last time.  
  
“You know... it probably won't be as bad as you think. Five months went by pretty quick—”  
  
“Stop trying to cheer me up and go already,” Brick said viciously.  
  
Boomer stared at him a moment longer before easing the door shut. As it clicked into place, the delighted smirk that he'd been suppressing ever since Brick had delivered them the news finally burst onto his face, and he zoomed out of the building and back out into the night sky.  
  
.~.  
  
Not long after the boys had left, Blossom had decided she'd had enough of the ocean for one day and had gone home. Buttercup and Bubbles had stayed behind.  
  
As dusk settled in Mike struck up a fire and they all gathered around it, laughing and talking and roasting the occasional marshmallow. It was stilted socializing, though, at least for Bubbles. Something was off. Something was missing.  
  
Buttercup seemed to feel it, too; her mouth was doing more marshmallow consuming than talking. They sat together, absorbing each other's silence while the rest of their friends engaged in actual conversation.  
  
“Robin, pass me the marshmallows,” Bubbles said, and as the bag was passed to her she stuck two on her stick and three on her sister's. They rotated them in the fire slowly, side by side. Bubbles leaned against her sister and rested her head on her shoulder.  
  
“Miss them already, huh?” she said quietly, and Buttercup only scoffed.  
  
“Whatever. Maybe. Definitely the eye candy, though,” she said, and Bubbles giggled.  
  
“Good day for that kinda thing.”  
  
“Should've gotten his top off sooner,” Buttercup agreed, pulling her marshmallow stick back out to examine it. “Mm, ready.” She made to eat off the top one just as a hand reached over her head and grasped the half of the stick that was in her hand.  
  
They turned to see Butch angling it his way so he could bite off the first marshmallow.  
  
“What's up?” he said, voice muffled.  
  
“What are you doing back here?” Buttercup gasped as he ate a second one.  
  
The hand not grasping the stick held up his surfboard.  
  
“Thought I'd do a little night surfing. Up for it?”  
  
Buttercup, realizing her marshmallows were quickly disappearing, wrenched the stick away and hastily ate the last one.  
  
“Yeah, sure!”  
  
They said their goodbyes to the group as Buttercup grabbed her board. As they made their way to the water, Bubbles nibbled at her marshmallows and overheard Butch say, “You ever been to Hawaii?”  
  
She turned her head to look after them just as Kim and Bobby glanced up and said, “Boomer?!”  
  
Bubbles looked up in surprise at the boy settling down beside her.  
  
“Hi!”  
  
The delight in her voice was a total slip up, one that Boomer noticed. He paused and returned it with a slow smile, and she tried to subdue the happy expression on her face. He plucked carelessly at a couple of strings.  
  
“Hey yourself.”  
  
“I, um—” Bubbles looked down and busied herself with the ribbons on her sandals. “I didn’t think… I thought you were done with the beach for the day?”  
  
He made a face and said, “Brick was. Is. Whatever.” He looked back at the neck of his guitar and strummed, adjusting the tuning. “I felt like… coming back and being social.”  
  
“You like the beach that much, huh?” Bubbles laughed.  
  
Boomer paused and smiled. “Something like that.”  
  
Something was stuck in her throat, and then he looked at her, which only encouraged it to scuttle up another few inches. She swallowed and looked at the fire, blushing.  
  
.~.  
  
No, Buttercup had told Butch, she'd never been to Hawaii.  
  
“It's pretty,” she observed as they gazed out to the horizon. The sky was exploding into orange and gold as the sun set. “My second sunset of the day.”  
  
They were laying on their stomachs on their boards out in the water, side by side. Butch shrugged.  
  
“'S not bad.”  
  
Buttercup gave him a look. “'Not bad?' Is that it? Why'd you suggest going to Hawaii if it's only 'not bad?'”  
  
He jumped up, standing and balancing on his board as the waves gently rocked them.  
  
“Just 'cause.”  
  
She snorted and stared at a volcano way off in the distance, tiny streams of red lava cutting their way down. Evidently it was right on the edge of the island, because where the lava would've hit the water there was a wall of steam billowing out into the air.  
  
“I wanted to go somewhere a little private,” Butch suddenly said, and she looked at him, dread curling in her stomach at his words.  
  
“Is that right?” she said slowly.  
  
“Yeah. I got something I want to tell you.”  
  
Buttercup's eyes widened and she refrained from gripping her board lest she unintentionally smash it in her hands (it was a good board). She swallowed.  
  
“What kind of something?” she asked, voice strained.  
  
He looked at her, his green eyes dark and reflecting none of that red-orange sunlight in the sky. Buttercup suddenly realized she didn't want to hear him say it, didn't want him to ruin this, this whatever they had, because then it would just be Mitch and Harry and the twins all over again—  
  
“I kinda work for an evil corporation,” Butch said, and after a long moment of silence, Buttercup blinked.  
  
“...What?”  
  
“Well, maybe not kinda. More of a definitely.”  
  
She stared at him. “Are you fucking shitting me?”  
  
“That's what we were doing all that time we were gone. Working for this company, I mean. Brick got us in.”  
  
“What the hell kind of work does an 'evil corporation' make you do?”  
  
Butch shrugged. “Stealin' shit. Computer things and files and whatever. Sometimes you... take care of people.”  
  
“'Take care of people?' Are you for—why are you telling me this?”  
  
He looked her dead in the eye. “I wanted to see if you were going to do something about it.”  
  
She stared up at him. Stealing? Killing people? She'd seen him do the former, so that wasn't a stretch to imagine. But the latter...  
  
“You've killed people,” she said flatly. She'd meant to phrase it as a question, but she already knew the answer.  
  
He shrugged again. “If it makes you feel any better, our targets killed bunches of others.”  
  
“That doesn't make it _right_!”  
  
“Does that mean you're going to do something about it?” he challenged.  
  
She jumped up on her board and glared at him. He was a murderer; he'd just told her so himself. A thief and a murderer. And kind of a whore, since he got paid to do it.  
  
“What are you doing in Townsville?” she demanded.  
  
“We're on vacation,” he said.  
  
This threw her off. She blinked away most of her confusion and the rest of it asked, “Why the hell did you pick Townsville?”  
  
“We didn't. The company sent us here. Townsville here, not Hawaii here.”  
  
“Why the hell did _they_ pick Townsville?”  
  
“Search me.”  
  
“You're not on a job?”  
  
Butch laughed. “What the hell kind of job would they send us to do in...” He trailed off as Buttercup crossed her arms and glared.  
  
“Oh. Yeah, I guess you guys are pretty important.”  
  
She stared at him, unsure what to feel. There was anger there, yes, but it felt like there wasn't enough of it to do something. There was also reluctance, disbelief, and beyond that, relief that he hadn't said what she'd been afraid of hearing in the first place.  
  
“So what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his gaze as dark as the night sky. Now there was light in them, though. Funny how his eyes wouldn't reflect sunlight, but moonlight lit them up something fierce.  
  
She stared at him a moment longer, then sank to her board, kneeling.  
  
“I don't know if I can do anything.” She could practically hear Blossom screaming at her _YES YOU CAN_!  
  
Butch sank to his knees, too. “You still want to... you know, hang out?”  
  
“The people you've killed,” she said abruptly. “Were they... bad people?”  
  
He took a second to consider, then said, “Brick says everyone is, really.”  
  
That wasn't exactly the answer Buttercup had been looking for.  
  
“But they'd definitely done bad things,” Butch continued. “Worse things than most others.”  
  
It was a small consolation, but Buttercup latched onto that, and it became a hundred percent truth in her mind. Brick was right. Everyone was bad, to a degree. It was only human. And some probably did deserve to die more than others, though she'd never say it out loud.  
  
She sighed and laid back on her board, stretching her legs out and letting her hands drift into the water. There never seemed to be this many stars in Townsville. Funny thing. Then again, it wasn't like she ever looked that often.  
  
“Hey, so are we good or not?”  
  
She splashed a hand in the water. “Little late to tell me now, now that we're all friends and shit. Besides, you're leaving in a week, aren't you?”  
  
There was a long pause, followed by an, “Oh, yeah,” and then Butch stretched out on his board, too.  
  
.~.  
  
“So you don’t drink, huh?” Bubbles asked, her wedges in one hand as she trudged across the sand barefoot, the laughter at the campfire fading in the background.  
  
“Oh, you know, sometimes,” Boomer said, idly strumming his guitar. After some exuberant fireside singing that had involved group renditions of Bohemian Rhapsody and The Distance, a cooler had been busted open and beer passed around, to Bubbles’ disappointment. She'd shaken her head when one was passed to her, expecting Boomer to take it, but instead he'd turned to her and said quietly, “Wanna go for a walk?”  
  
She was still recovering from the shock, as well as the leap her heart had taken at his suggestion. Her shoes bounced against her thigh as the two of them ambled towards the ocean.  
  
“You know, I don’t mind that kind of thing,” she said lightly. “I mean, Blossom would, and like, no one ever even _tries_ drinking in front of her, but I don’t mind it. So you could’ve taken one, if you’d wanted.”  
  
Boomer stopped strumming and stepped closer to her, swinging his guitar around so it rested on his back.  
  
“I guess. Given my options, though, I’d say I made the right decision. By the way, there’s nothing in the rulebook against friends holding hands, right?”  
  
His hand slipped around her free one, and she nearly dropped the shoes she held in the other. His grip was firm but didn’t hurt, and a warm shiver traveled across her chest.  
  
“I’d have to check,” she said, and he smiled and swung their hands back and forth a little.  
  
A niggling little thought hung in the back of her mind, and for sake of her happiness—the happiness she felt right now, that was growing and growing the longer they walked together, the longer he held her hand—she didn’t want to bring it up. For sake of her sanity, though, it was probably the thing to do.  
  
This wasn’t going to work out anyway, with him taking off in a week.  
  
“When are you and your brothers leaving?” she asked quietly, and his grip on her hand loosened, very slightly.  
  
He studied the sand crunching underneath their feet for a few steps.  
  
“Funny you should mention that.”  
  
.~.  
  
Buttercup lifted her head off her board and looked at the boy floating beside her.  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
Butch’s eyes were on the stars above them, and he dangled a hand off his board into the water.  
  
“Yeah, man. We’re here for a whole ‘nother year.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
 _What are you going to do about it_?  
  
After a long pause, Buttercup laid back down, feeling cool water pooling along the back of her head.  
  
“That’s really cool.”  
  
“Yeah?” Butch’s voice drifted along the water, gentler than the waves that rocked them. Their hands floated close enough to touch, but neither reached for the other.  
  
He was kind of a dick. And kind of a whack job. And he'd done some really terrible things, she was sure. Worse things than she could imagine, probably.  
  
But.  
  
Buttercup thought about it for a second and found herself smiling as she stared at the moon.  
  
“Yeah. It is.”  
  
His hand bumped hers, and he splashed some water onto her. She didn't splash him back.  
  
“Hey, you can't tell anybody else,” he suddenly said.  
  
“What do you think I am, stupid?” she scoffed. “Don't worry about it. I got you.”  
  
He raised himself up on his elbows to stare at her. She kept her eyes on the sky, and, after awhile, he laid back down.  
  
A second later he kicked her board over, sending her rolling into the water, and he laughed as she sputtered and snarled and dragged him in after her.  
  
.~.  
  
Blossom set down her copy of _The Stranger_ and shifted to hug her knees to her chest, the bedsprings squeaking faintly as she did so. The Professor had been happy to see her home so soon—relieved, really—and then had resumed fretting about her still-absent siblings.  
  
She'd showered and changed, and then the Professor had made a small dinner for two. It had been a nice, quiet evening, and she'd been happy to get their father to herself for once. After dinner he'd retreated to the lab to finish work, leaving Blossom to meander upstairs and finish her book.  
  
Now that, too, was done. So she curled her arms around her knees and stared out at the night sky, thinking about Brick.  
  
Not, of course, about shirtless Brick, or how warm he'd been when she'd unintentionally crashed into him, or how all that water had been dripping down his skin after he'd finished swimming. Though the memories may have crossed her mind. Briefly. Once or twice.  
  
Really, though, she was trying to figure out exactly why he'd seemed so... upset about the stealth fighter. It would've been one thing if he'd been upset at his wounded arm, but he'd clearly been agitated prior to that. Why, also, would he have gone to such an effort to stop the thing? Granted, it had been going after anything Chemical X-y, but he could've hung back and left the work to the girls. After all, he'd demonstrated a reluctance to help in the past.  
  
Unlike the hostage situation at the school, Brick hadn't needed any convincing here. He'd actually been the first to leap into the air and take off after it. And then there was that whole thing about him knowing just where to stop to avoid getting fired at.  
  
A part of Blossom thought she might be over-analyzing things, but another part knew it was more than just a string of coincidences. It all meant something. It had to.  
  
Then again, he was leaving, what, next week? The thought crossed her mind and inspired the slightest twinge of disappointment. It wasn't likely she'd discover more in just a week. Brick obviously liked to keep his secrets.  
  
 _But that's not really why you're disappointed_ , she thought to herself, and her mind flitted to that image of him glancing at her as she tried to hide herself in her hat—  
  
The door swung open, and Blossom jumped as if she'd been caught doing something inappropriate.  
  
“Oh, God, Bubbles, it's just you,” she said in relief.  
  
Her sister didn't respond. She only floated to her bed—she'd changed back into her one-piece to save her father the heart attack and/or killing rampage—and sat, face shadowed and conflicted. She didn't look at Blossom.  
  
After a moment, Blossom uncurled her legs and floated over to her sister.  
  
“Bubbles? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”  
  
Bubbles turned her gaze on her sister, biting her lip.  
  
“Everything's fine. Just... there's news.”  
  
Blossom's muscles tensed. “Good news or bad news?”  
  
She expected Bubbles to say the latter, based on her expression and the faraway look in her eyes. She hadn't noticed the faint blush or the twitch of her lips that was a smile threatening to break on her face.  
  
Bubbles looked at her and let her lips curl just enough into a small grin, waiting for her sister to ask one more time.  
  
 _-end Ch. 6-_


	7. Imperfect Boys With Their Perfect Lives, or Take Me Home, I'd Rather Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: Thanks always to mathkid and Juxtaposie for putting up with me. This is a small prequel/backstory mini-chapter. Hope you enjoy it, nonetheless!

**More Than Human, Pt. 0.5 – Winter Previous  
December – Imperfect Boys With Their Perfect Lives**, or **Take Me Home, I'd Rather Die**  
_-sbj-_  
  
There was a young woman visiting Townsville who was very pleased with herself. She was generally rather pleased with herself, actually, but today she was feeling exceptionally self-congratulatory.  
  
She pulled her dark brown hair into a ponytail as she paced the apartment, sidestepping the guys who were moving everything in—she'd been prepped to hire professional movers, but the agents had insisted on helping out. She supposed it was their manly way of saying they were going to miss the Boys, too.  
  
She nodded approvingly at the berber carpet, the high-ceilinged room, the large windows in the dining area that were flooding the apartment with faded winter light. The place was gradually filling with boxes, boxes that would soon be unpacked, their wares just waiting to be arranged. Like the finishing touches on a particularly fine piece of work.  
  
Manning the front desk of Evil was her day job, a job that she was damn good at. But interior design was her _passion_.  
  
A familiar stampede of noise echoed in the hall outside, and within seconds it had burst into the apartment.  
  
“Dude!” Butch cackled. “Bitchin' place!”  
  
Boomer, his electric slung over his shoulder and the case that housed his acoustic in his hands, singled out the first bedroom door he laid eyes on and made a beeline for it.  
  
“That one's mine,” he announced, pointing. “Neither of you other fuckers can take that one, I'm claiming it—”  
  
“No, no, Boomer,” the woman called out, grasping him by the shoulder and gently guiding him around. “That one, there. Better acoustics.” He beamed at her.  
  
“Thanks, Penny.”  
  
“I can't believe we get our own rooms!” Butch stopped in front of her and grinned. “I could kiss you.”  
  
“Chemical X doesn't lessen the burn of pepper spray in your eyes, Butch,” Penny said good-naturedly, allowing him a high five. She pointed. “I gave you the room with the biggest window. Easy to air out, you know.”  
  
“You're the best. Have I mentioned how good you look in jeans?” he said, laughing, and went off to go inspect his room, slapping a box that read _Boomer_ out of a guy's hands.  
  
Penny smirked and turned back to the door, her eyes falling on Brick. Unlike his brothers, he hadn't come bounding in. He was standing just to one side of the entrance, scrutinizing their apartment with a look of distaste. She sighed and strolled up to him, dodging more boxes.  
  
“Brick. Don't you like it? I went to a lot of work to get this place for you guys.”  
  
“I wanted a loft,” he muttered.  
  
“Don't be a brat,” she scolded, batting his temple. “You get your own room. The biggest one, in fact.”  
  
He readjusted his hat; she'd messed it up some.  
  
“Yay.”  
  
“And you guys are going to have your privacy. The building's filled with nothing but single businessmen who work too much and don't socialize with their neighbors.”  
  
He looked up and said, “The ceiling's pretty high. Waste of energy to heat this place.”  
  
“Well, you can fly up there yourself and make sure you utilize the space. And since when do you care about conserving energy?”  
  
“Penny.” Brick looked at her, suddenly seeming less like the agent he was and more like the teenager he was. “I don't wanna _be_ here.”  
  
She took a deep breath and refrained from reaching out a reassuring arm; he'd only back away from it, anyhow.  
  
“Come on,” she said encouragingly, smiling. “Let me show you your room.”  
  
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked to the end opposite from his brothers' rooms. Once inside she opened the blinds to throw in some daylight. After a minute, she heard Brick shuffle in behind her. She turned and grinned, pointing.  
  
“Your bed's going here. I would've put it over there, but it'd throw the whole layout of the room off and you'd have to climb or fly over it any time you wanted to get to your shelves. So it's going here, we've got shelves going in on this wall, you've got this area set aside for whatever—if you want to set up your canvas here, you can do that—”  
  
He paced the room, his gaze obediently following Penny's directions. He stopped by the windows, briefly, and peered through the blinds. Penny came up beside him and looked out over the buildings on Townsville's West Side.  
  
“Lovely view, isn't it?”  
  
Brick scowled.  
  
“It sucks,” he grumbled.  
  
“Come on, Brick. Work with me here. I mean, it's not the most glamorous city, granted, but—”  
  
“You know this stupid vacation wasn't even Smith's idea?” he interrupted, face darkening at the memory. “He knew we didn't 'need' one. He knew I didn't want one. You know who suggested it? Darius, that little... that good-for-nothing, worthless piece of shit, he runs a financial group or two and suddenly he thinks he can just jump into the fucking Lake of Evil Industry and make a mark! _He_ suggested it! A fucking twentysomething who hasn't even been with the company for two years is on the board, telling _me_ what to do! It'd be God damn hilarious if it wasn't so God damn irritating!”  
  
Penny held her breath and bit back the impulse to point out that life was hardly fair, that life in any business wasn't any fairer, and that really, Darius might have been twentysomething, but Brick was seventeen. Seventeen and throwing tantrums about his elders, like any typical teenager. She knew better than to say all this out loud, though. She was just past her mid-twenties herself and had never raised a child, but she knew better.  
  
She walked over to the end of the room, nearest the bathroom, and tapped the one piece of furniture that had already been moved in.  
  
“Brick. Do you want to see your desk? I had the guys in Tech outfit it for you, especially.”  
  
He stayed where he was, fuming and glaring at the desk as if it had done him some great personal injustice. After a second of waiting, Penny shrugged and spread her hands on its surface, tapping her fingers on the polished wood.  
  
“Be careful about what you put on top. It's pretty sturdy, but there's some delicate equipment in here.” She reached underneath the desk, her hand guided by memory alone as there were no telltale marks to indicate where the console was. “The control pad is here. Access code is zero-four-nine-nine.”  
  
Brick's curiosity outweighed his anger. He sidled over, kneeling to look under the desk. Penny outlined the console's area with a finger, and Brick reached up, sliding his hand across it.  
  
“You can't even feel it,” he murmured.  
  
“Pretty cool, huh? Even feels like wood.” She tapped in the combo and a large holographic screen flickered to life above the desk.  
  
Brick stood, eyes widening a little in what might have been awe.  
  
“Here. Don't blink.” Penny moved him to where she was standing, and a thin beam of light shot out to track across his eyes. “It even recognizes your voice. Go on and say your name.”  
  
He glanced at her and obediently complied.  
  
“Brick.”  
  
A variety of windows instantly spread across the screen, and Penny touched a finger to one of them, then dragged it around the screen, pointing out where each window would take him—e-mail here, personal files here, a simple dictionary password hack program here (“For little things, you know, just trying to cover all your bases,” Penny said), and this one led to the communications console—  
  
“And look, you can call us up anytime you like,” Penny said, tapping in the number to headquarters and waving at Paul when he picked up. “Hey, just testing it out.”  
  
“Get back soon. I can't handle the phones like you,” he said, his statement punctuated by the familiar beeping of several calls coming in on the other lines. “Brick, have a good vacation.” Paul flickered off, and Brick navigated back to the main menu to explore more.  
  
Penny let him play with it for a bit, then said, “So... like I said, you can call us up anytime you like. You know me, I'm always at the desk.”  
  
Brick paused and looked at her.  
  
“I shouldn't be able to call you up to talk to you. I should be able to walk down the fucking stairs and speak with you face to face.”  
  
He shut off his glorified desktop and walked past her, back out into the living room. Penny heaved a sigh.  
  
“How big is this thing?” Butch's voice echoed through the doorway. “Fifty inches? We got a fifty-inch TV?”  
  
Boomer's elated voice joined him.  
  
“This sound system is so killer, oh my God. Hook that up first so we can get some music going in here!”  
  
Penny walked out to see the agents vainly trying to set things up with two boisterous superpowered teenage boys breathing down their necks. A few guys had just set down the couch, and Brick sat on it the second it was lowered to the floor. After glancing between him and his brothers, she clapped her hands.  
  
“Brick! You and your brothers, go out and get us all some coffee.”  
  
The boys all looked at her.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Quit messing around,” she said, flapping her hands at Boomer and Butch to shoo them from the TV and stereo. “Let the guys handle it. You three go out for a bit.”  
  
“I have absolutely no desire to leave this room, unless it is to go back home,” Brick groaned, covering his eyes.  
  
“I'm not sending your brothers out by themselves. You really think if I send those two out to get two gallons of coffee that I am actually going to get two gallons of coffee?”  
  
“Penny!” Boomer cried, offended. “Don't you trust us?”  
  
“I am so hurt by your words,” Butch said with a sniffle. “Comfort me in your bosom.”  
  
“Watch it, jailbait,” Penny said flatly, and flicked the company credit card to Brick. “Here. Go out and get two gallons of coffee and a tall chai latte for me. Plus whatever you three want to drink. Take your time. As long as you're back in an hour and the drinks don't go cold, you can do whatever the hell you want.” After a pause, she added, “Except destroy the city.”  
  
“Low profiles,” Butch nodded solemnly. “Gotcha.”  
  
Everybody in the room went silent and stared at Butch. He looked around.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You're right,” Brick sighed, standing and pocketing the card. “I'd better go with them.”  
  
***  
  
“Nobody seems to recognize us,” Boomer observed as they walked down the street in the chilly winter air.  
  
“That's good,” Brick reminded him.  
  
“Naw, I was just... I thought some people might remember who we were, is all.”  
  
“We could remind them,” Butch laughed, and Brick sensed the sudden crackle of energy in his brother's hand and whipped around, snatching him by the wrist.  
  
“Don't even fucking _think_ about it,” he growled, green sparks skittering across their hands. Butch scoffed.  
  
“Relax, bro. I was just kidding.”  
  
The green sparks stopped, and Brick let go. After getting in one more glare for good measure, he turned and continued to lead them down the street.  
  
“Say, we got an hour. We probably don't need to get the coffee for another, like, forty-five minutes.” Boomer bounced up next to Brick. “Let's go do something!”  
  
“Like what?” he grumbled.  
  
“Scope out the honeys in the mall,” Butch answered, pointing across the street. Brick groaned.  
  
“It's the fucking holiday season. You know how crowded that bastard's going to be?”  
  
“Which means it's the perfect place to hide in plain sight and _not_ attract attention, right?” Boomer said, slapping Brick on the back with one hand and snaking out the credit card with his other.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Butch and Boomer were already diving into traffic, dodging the honking cars as they jaywalked—well, it was more of a jayrun—across the street to the mall.  
  
Brick sighed and darted a longing glance at the coffeeshop they'd been approaching on the corner. Then he too made his way across the street, pausing to wait for the cars to pass.  
  
Navigating the street was one thing, but navigating the mall parking lot was another thing entirely. It felt like hours before he made it through the entrance, and it had taken a supreme amount of self-control to not utterly destroy the vehicle of anyone who honked at him.  
  
“Fucking city,” he muttered irritably as he slammed through the doors and spied his brothers inspecting a map. “Fucking holidays.”  
  
“I need to go here,” Boomer said, pointing. “I left my capo at JS.”  
  
“Well, I need to go here and stock up on some fucking horror. Fifty-inches of zombie coming at you? Hell yes.”  
  
“You guys get to go to one place each,” Brick announced, snatching the credit card back. “And then we go get coffee.”  
  
“Don't you want to go anywhere, Brick?” Boomer asked.  
  
“Of course I do,” he said. “But I can't for another six friggin' months.”  
  
As they started walking, Boomer continued, “You still sore about it, huh?”  
  
“We didn't need a fucking vacation,” Brick said. Boomer shrugged.  
  
“I think it's nice.”  
  
“I think it's awesome,” Butch put in.  
  
“It's an effort to get us away from the company,” Brick snarled, stepping aside to dodge a cluster of people laden with shopping bags. “The board wants us out.”  
  
_They want_ me _out_ , he thought.  
  
“You still on that, man?” Boomer asked.  
  
“Darius doesn't want us around. He views us as a threat.”  
  
Butch coughed and spit on the floor, ignoring the looks of shocked disgust people threw him.  
  
“Darius is a prick, but come on—”  
  
“I'm serious,” Brick muttered. “This isn't a vacation. This is banishment. We'd probably be 'vacationing' longer if we didn't have Smith on our side.”  
  
“You're so negative!” Boomer exclaimed. “You're like a modern day teenage Scrooge with superpowers.”  
  
Brick paused and closed his eyes, long enough to expel a slow sigh. His brothers hung back, waiting. After a second, he started walking again. Butch and Boomer exchanged a look, then Boomer bounded forward.  
  
“Cheer up, bro. It's only six months.”  
  
“You need a break, dude,” Butch added, coming up on his other side. “You stress about shit too much.”  
  
Brick stopped and looked up.  
  
“We're here.”  
  
They glanced up to see the sign for Guitar God, and Boomer lit up, ducking inside as soon as Brick had handed off the credit card.  
  
“I'm waitin' here!” Butch called after him.  
  
“Same,” Brick said, turning and leaning his arms against the railing—they were on the second floor. He watched the scores of people milling around on the lower level with disdain. Happy, blithering sheep. This city especially was crawling with them.  
  
He'd noticed it the moment they'd driven back in. Townsville wasn't like other cities. Its people were so God damn happy, so God damn stupid. For a place that had supposedly suffered from the worst crime rates in the nation just twelve years ago, they acted like they had never faced any hardship, never endured any heartbreak. They just went about their stupid, happy lives, with those stupid, happy faces, while three girls with superpowers ran around cleaning up their fucking messes.  
  
They were stupid, too. Stupider, even.  
  
Brick hated them and this city and its people and everything else one could possibly hate about Townsville. He would've leveled it on his way out five years ago if he'd known a fuckhead like Darius would have ordered him back.  
  
Darius knew Brick hated it. He also knew the city was watched over by three superheroes, with whom the boys had a history. He and the entire board sans Smith had opted to send them to Townsville and ordered them to keep a low profile, with the full expectation that they would fuck up.  
  
They knew Butch. They thought they knew Brick.  
  
He was going to have to keep close tabs on his brother. He said he'd behave, but words didn't mean anything when it came to Butch.  
  
Of course, once Brick was in charge, none of this would matter. But first Brick had to get there, which meant furthering his plan, which meant being at headquarters, which meant getting out of this Godforsaken city as soon as possible.  
  
In the grand scheme of things, this new hurdle was hardly noteworthy. In Brick's grand scheme, it was another story.  
  
“One day,” he sighed, and Butch joined him at the rail.  
  
“One day, this will all be yours for the taking,” he bellowed in a mocking voice, the last part of his sentence collapsing into subdued laughter. Brick waited for him to finish.  
  
“I'd wipe this stain off the planet if I could,” he muttered.  
  
“Hey, once you're the man in charge, who's to say you can't?” Butch hoisted himself up so he was sitting on the railing, legs dangling over the edge. “Although, shit. The way it's going? Waiting until we're twenty-one to execute this master plan of yours?” He twisted, planted his feet against the rail, and, still grasping the banister, leaned back to watch the downstairs mall patrons upside down. “I don't think you can hold out that long, brother.”  
  
“That makes two of us,” Brick said. A security guard on the first level spotted Butch and started waving. “Get your ass back over here. You're going to make a scene.”  
  
Butch made a face, but obediently complied. Once he was back on solid ground, Boomer came running up, grinning as he pocketed his capo and handed the card back over to Brick.  
  
“Sa-weet,” Butch sang, and pivoted. “My turn.”  
  
“Nothing says Christmas like a giant stack of horror movies,” Boomer agreed. Brick trailed after them, and they all muscled their way onto the escalator going down.  
  
Something caught Brick's attention as they moved, and he frowned, his muscles tensing. Beyond the almost deafening chatter of the crowds, there was this faint sound echoing in the distance that was oddly familiar...  
  
They reached the first floor, took a second to get their bearings, and then Butch led them all in the direction of the nearest movie store. The sound that had arrested Brick's attention on the escalator began to build as they walked—whatever it was, they were getting closer, and he started to move ahead of his brothers, eager to discover what it was.  
  
The claustrophobic space suddenly opened up before them, and Brick stepped into the wide, atrium-like center of the mall. A small stage had been set up on one end with speakers and blank television screens surrounding the area.  
  
“Huh.” Boomer looked around. “They got some kind of event going on here?”  
  
“Townsville Mall thanks you,” Butch read off the banner hanging on the stage backdrop.  
  
“There was sound just a second ago,” Brick said, puzzled.  
  
Butch hadn't finished.  
  
“Powerpuff Girls.”  
  
They discovered the TVs and speakers hadn't gone dead. The video was just restarting its cycle.  
  
The A/V equpiment all suddenly exploded to life, color sparking across the screens and high energy music blasting out of the speakers.  
  
Brick gaped as video clips of the girls' heroics—battles with criminals, monsters, familiar supervillains—assaulted his vision, the MTV-inspired fast cuts and editing numbing his brain.  
  
“You have _got_ to be shitting me,” he said incredulously.  
  
“Damn right,” Butch said, a little glazed as he approached the screen. “The redhead is fucking _smoking_ hot.” He turned back to his brothers. “How did a stubby little goody-two-shoes girl grow into that?! Talk about the right way to hit puberty!”  
  
“Not bad,” Boomer said approvingly as the scene cut from a thwarted car chase to quick subjugation of a laser-wielding Mojo Jojo.  
  
“Where the fuck did they get all this footage?” Brick squawked indignantly as it cut yet again to a monster attack. “Are you telling me they've got a fucking camera crew that follows them around for the sole purpose of putting _promos_ together?!”  
  
There was a sound byte of Blossom commanding her sisters, and Brick's muscles reflexively tensed again. Even five years later, his body was still conditioned to brace itself for an attack the second he registered her voice. That was what had sounded so familiar.  
  
She still sounded like a self-righteous, bitchy know-it-all. Absolutely nothing had changed about this city.  
  
“It looks like they're gonna be here in an hour,” Boomer said, gleaning the information off a sign, and Brick snapped to.  
  
He grabbed Butch—who was about five seconds away from drowning in his own drool—and pointed him in the direction of his store.  
  
“Let's move it,” he barked. “There's no fucking way I want to run into them today.”  
  
“It's going to happen eventually,” Butch said (after swallowing). “What's the point in delaying me meeting my future wife-slash-sex-slave?”  
  
“You had better be fucking joking,” Brick snarled, glancing back to make sure Boomer was on their tail. “Because I am _not_ in the mood. To either meet them or listen to your asshattery.” He glanced back again to find Boomer had stopped and was waving at them.  
  
“Guys! Check this out!”  
  
“We gotta get going!” Brick snapped, but Butch was already moving back. Grumbling, Brick stalked over and snatched both his brothers by their collars. “I mean it—”  
  
He halted, eyes widening as he took in the store display. Three giant banners were displayed in the windows of this shoe store, each featuring one of the girls full body from the chin down, their lips just visible at the top.  
  
“They have a shoe deal!” Boomer said, sounding a little awed and as if he would very much like to endorse a shoe himself.  
  
“Are you _fucking kidding me_?!” Brick cried.  
  
Butch just stared at the center ad featuring Blossom and gurgled helplessly.  
  
Brick swore and tore his eyes away, utterly disgusted. “This fucking city,” he said bitterly under his breath, and dragged his brothers away. The movie store was only a couple doors down, and he practically flung his brothers in there.  
  
“Hurry up,” he snapped at Butch. “Get your movies and let's get the hell out of here.”  
  
As Butch made for the Horror section with Boomer close behind, Brick kept a wary watch outside. Just their fucking luck. Potentially running into the girls their first day back was a good way to start off a return trip.  
  
“Got 'em!”  
  
Brick turned, mildly impressed.  
  
“Already—”  
  
He cut off as he took in the stack of DVDs approaching the counter, with his brother ostensibly behind it.  
  
“What the hell do you need that many for?!”  
  
“You wanna keep me outta trouble, don't you?” Butch retorted, setting the stack down on the counter. The guy at the register had to use a stepladder to get to the top one. Brick watched as the guy began to methodically scan each DVD.  
  
After the fifth one he snapped, “Can't you go any faster?!”  
  
“This is an old system, sir,” the cashier said in a bored tone, not looking up. He reached a DVD that wouldn't scan. He furrowed his brow and tried it a couple more times, then tapped the scanner. “Shoot. It's acting up again—”  
  
Brick's temper flared, and he moved into the store like a shadow, dragging all the darkness with him. His brothers instantly moved out of his way as he leaned on the counter and pushed forward, making sure that when the cashier looked up, he could see his expression. His incredibly dangerous, unhappy expression.  
  
The guy behind the counter went white and swallowed.  
  
“ _Pick it up_ ,” Brick snarled.  
  
Having cowed the employee (and possibly the scanner as well) into submission, within ten seconds all of Butch's movies were accounted for and bagged, plus a magazine Butch threw in at the last minute.  
  
“Thank you,” Brick said in a voice that sounded less like an expression of gratitude and more like a threat. “Now let's go.”  
  
“Aw,” Boomer whined, pouting as they started to head back out into the mall. “It hasn't even been an hour yet—”  
  
“Bubbles! We have to get moving! We're here for publicity purposes, not to go shopping!”  
  
A horrified Brick skidded to an immediate stop, grabbing his brothers to keep from moving further. The familiar voice of a self-righteous, bitchy know-it-all was rapidly approaching, flanked by her sisters, and headed directly for their store.  
  
He swore and ducked back into the store, yanking his brothers along with him. He dragged them past the bewildered cashier and down several aisles, desperate for a place to hide. He settled on the documentary aisle and hunched down, motioning at his brothers to do the same as the girls entered the store, still bickering.  
  
“But we still need a present for the Professor!” the blonde protested. “We don't have to go on for another forty-five minutes. We can squeeze in _some_ shopping, at least—”  
  
“Bubbles is right,” the scowling, dark-haired girl said. “Christmas is a freakin' week away. We're running out of time.”  
  
The redhead sighed. Brick couldn't believe that even at, what, sixteen? Seventeen? She was still wearing that ridiculous bow.  
  
“Fine. But only for fifteen minutes! We need at least half an hour to prep before we go up on stage.”  
  
“It won't even take five,” the blonde giggled, and trotted over to an aisle. “Now let's see... where to start...”  
  
“A documentary, maybe,” their leader suggested, and a jolt of irritation shot through Brick as he glanced up at the genre of the aisle he and his siblings were hiding in.  
  
“Ooh! That's a good idea—”  
  
Brick could see them coming and motioned hastily at his brothers to back out over into the next aisle. They ducked in just as the blonde came around the corner to browse.  
  
“What kind of documentary, do you think?” she asked as her sisters joined her.  
  
Butch made a strangled little noise as he peered at the redhead's back, and Brick shot him a deadly look.  
  
“Something science-related...”  
  
“Okay, whatever,” the dark-haired girl said, bored. “I'm going to check out the Horror.”  
  
Brick paused and looked up at the genre of their aisle. His eye twitched.  
  
Then he was dragging his brothers into the next aisle over as she came around.  
  
“Dang. Someone cleared this section out.”  
  
“Buttercup, this is a group present! You ought to help us pick one out!”  
  
“Chill out, Blossom. Boxed set of that nature show. There. Now you have my suggestion.”  
  
“They're out,” the blonde said sadly.  
  
“Yeah, we've probably waited too long to get it,” Buttercup said, flipping through some DVDs. “I'll bet you can't even find it online anymore.”  
  
Brick wanted to slit his own throat. They couldn't find what they'd come in for! Did they have to freaking talk about it? Why wouldn't they just leave?  
  
“We don't _have_ to get him a documentary. What about an action flick? Or a romcom?”  
  
As Brick looked up, his heart sinking as he took in their aisle's genre, Bubbles squealed, “Oh yeah! There's this chick flick I've been meaning to get—”  
  
This was getting ridiculous. The boys scrambled into the next aisle as Bubbles bounced over.  
  
“Girls. _No_. We're supposed to be shopping for the Professor! If this is all you're going to do, then let's go get ready! You'll both have time to goof off afterwards.”  
  
_Listen to her_ , he thought frantically. _Please, PLEASE listen to her_...  
  
“All right, Red. Let's go, Bubbles.” Buttercup set her DVD down and made for the doors. Over on the other side, Bubbles mumbled something, then dutifully followed.  
  
Brick inwardly sighed, relieved.  
  
Then Boomer accidentally kicked Butch's bag and sent a slew of DVDs cascading onto the floor in the aisle, catching the girls' attentions before they could leave.  
  
Brick's eyes were glowing red and murderous as he glared at his brothers, who instantly pointed at each other in silence.  
  
“Huh.” They heard Buttercup approaching, and they started to scoot back as quietly as they could.  
  
“What's wrong, Buttercup?” Bubbles said from the opposite end of the aisle, and the boys immediately stopped. They were surrounded; there hadn't been enough time for Bubbles to make it to her sisters' side of the store, and now she was doubling back, closing in on the last aisle where the boys were. They had nowhere else to go.  
  
Brick turned to his brothers and motioned: _I am going to strangle you both to death by each other's intestines when we get home._  
  
There was a rustle from Buttercup's end of the aisle, and they watched a hand reach for one of the DVDs, the top of her head cresting into view as Bubbles' footsteps came closer, nearly upon them—  
  
The sudden trill of three superheroes' cell phones going off echoed in the store. The footsteps stopped, and the hand and top of a dark head of hair disappeared from their vision.  
  
Three voices asked simultaneously, “Mayor?”  
  
There was a rumble then, one that was faint and undetectable to the average human, but six boys and girls in a movie store felt it. The girls dashed out in streaks of blue, green, and pink, the colors flashing briefly against the windows in the store.  
  
The boys waited a minute or so. Then Brick stood up and heaved a sigh.  
  
“Whoo! That was a close one!” Boomer said brightly as he stood. For some reason the sound of his voice just then gave Brick a huge headache. Butch collected his fallen loot and tossed it back in the bag.  
  
“Crisis averted! What now?”  
  
“Coffee,” Brick announced in a grim voice. “Then an aspirin. Then—” He glared at both his brothers again, his lip curling ever-so-slightly. “Strangling to follow.”  
  
***  
  
“You're back! Wow, you boys certainly took advantage of that hour.”  
  
“The last time I act out of brotherly charity,” Brick groused. He carried both gallon boxes of coffee under his arms, with Penny's chai latte clutched in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.  
  
“Water, Brick? Is that all you got?”  
  
“I've got a headache. Bad time for coffee.”  
  
Penny glanced at Butch, carrying another gallon box.  
  
“Oh, you got three gallons? I thought I only asked for two.”  
  
“You did,” Butch answered. “This is mine.” She rolled her eyes.  
  
“Yes, you and your addictions. How silly of me to forget.”  
  
“Remind me never to let you get your hands on any cocaine,” Brick grumbled at his brother.  
  
“Cocaine is a hell of a drug,” Boomer said in a low, mocking voice, and at the looks people threw at him, he cried indignantly, “What? Are you kidding me? You guys never watched Chappelle's Show?”  
  
“Here Brick, I'll grab that,” one of the guys said, and took both boxes away, over to the kitchen. “Coffee, boys!”  
  
As agents emerged like ants out of the woodwork, lured by the promise of caffeine, Penny graciously accepted her chai from Brick.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
“You're welcome. Can I go home now?”  
  
“Let's keep your three wishes within the realm of possibility here.”  
  
Brick twisted his cap open.  
  
“How about an aspirin, then?”  
  
Penny went in search of her purse and dug around in it for a bottle as Brick chugged some water.  
  
“Here.”  
  
“You guys set up the sound yet? It's time for some music. Where're all my CDs?”  
  
“Still in the boxes in your room, Boomer,” Penny told him.  
  
“You guys look like you're almost done,” Brick said, looking around the apartment. Most everything in the living room was unpacked.  
  
“Come on. Compliment me on my superb interior design skills,” she preened.  
  
Brick looked around, his eyes halting briefly on Butch and their co-workers in the kitchen, all of them laughing as Butch chugged coffee out of the spigot of his box. He turned back to Penny.  
  
“Please tell me that guy gets his own bathroom.”  
  
Avril Lavigne began blasting through the speakers, which did absolutely nothing for Brick's headache.  
  
“Boomer!” he snapped. “What the hell?! I destroyed all your copies of her albums before we left!”  
  
“I stocked up at the music store when you weren't looking.”  
  
“Kill it before I kill _you_!”  
  
“That reminds me, when is the strangling supposed to be happening?” Boomer queried. “Can I pencil you in at five? You've gotta give me some time to unpack first.”  
  
The music suddenly died with a warble, and Penny stood up from where she had unplugged the system.  
  
“Boomer, be nice to your brother. He's homesick.”  
  
“I am _not_ homesick,” Brick snarled.  
  
“Do you want to be here?” she asked.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Would you like to go home?”  
  
“...Yes.”  
  
She shrugged and said, “Sounds like a textbook case of homesickness to me.”  
  
The aspirin was also doing absolutely nothing for his headache.  
  
“Here,” Penny was saying. “Let's watch some TV instead—”  
  
“This magazine has the girls' shoe ads in it!” Butch exclaimed triumphantly, then settled on a page as the guys peered over his shoulder. “See this? This is the new love of my life. I want to lick her.”  
  
“Who?” Penny looked at Brick as the TV flickered to life behind her. “Who's he talking about?”  
  
Brick shook his head, not deigning to answer, but paused as he caught sight of the image on their television.  
  
“There she is,” Boomer said, pointing. There was a scuffle in the kitchen, then Butch zipped into the living room and began pawing at the TV.  
  
Brick watched in silence as some inane interview took place.  
  
“Oh, the monster was no trouble at all,” she was saying. “All in a day's work, you know!”  
  
“Some timing, huh?” the woman interviewing her said. “On a day when you're being honored for saving the mall from massive destruction by Mojo Jojo's Giant Robo Jojo—”  
  
Brick would never understand that chimp's penchant for ridiculous names for his toys.  
  
“Believe me, it's a pleasure for me and my sisters—there's really no need for all this ceremony about it! We're happy to help people. It's what we do.”  
  
“Somebody unpack the ice pick,” Brick announced, “and stab it into my temple.”  
  
“You'd ruin the ice pick,” Penny pointed out.  
  
“Then douse me in Antidote X, and then stab me.”  
  
“God, that girl's got a gorgeous mouth, doesn't she?” Butch said lustily.  
  
“Do we even have an ice pick?” Boomer asked.  
  
Brick stared at the screen as she continued to blather on. How noble. How heroic. How fucking charitable. What a gracious use of your powers, to use them for the good of the people.  
  
The mere sight of her disgusted him.  
  
And in less than three weeks they'd be attending the same school. They were already in the same city. Fucking perfect.  
  
He didn't belong here. He didn't belong in this farce of a city, with its stupid happiness and stupid heroes and stupid fucking villains who never realized their potential, villains who clung to the destruction of heroic symbols for a city that wasn't even worth the time of day.  
  
Brick had been such a stupid kid once, to want that, too.  
  
There were nations out there, a whole fucking world for the taking. And even if any of them realized it, these ridiculous villains in Townsville would've wanted a gaudy throne to sit on. There was no cunning, no intricate planning, no realization that one could take over the world without visibly taking over. They were so closed-minded. They didn't get it. None of them did.  
  
Not even Him had. And Him was Evil Incarnate.  
  
Him wasn't interested in the world. None of them were, really. At the end of the day, all Townsville's stupid villains ever wanted to do was run around with little girls.  
  
He stared and stared at her. Chasing her? Fighting her? A fucking enormous waste of time.  
  
The Powerpuff Girls weren't worth the world. And this one, this fucking Saint here? Definitely wasn't worth it.  
  
Brick watched her on that screen, a benevolent ruler addressing her people, assuring her people. His lip curled.  
  
This was going to be a fantastic fucking six months.  
  
_-end Ch. 6a-_  
  



	8. Cupid Stuck Me With A Sickness, or Hey There Mr. Blue, We're So Pleased To Be With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: Let's raise a glass to mathkid and Juxtaposie, without whom I would surely be adrift in this vast sea that is fandom.

**More Than Human, Pt. 1 - Junior Summer  
July – Cupid Stuck Me With A Sickness**, or **Hey There Mr. Blue, We're So Pleased To Be With You**  
 _-sbj-_  
  
 _This isn't a date._  
  
Bubbles checked herself in the mirror to make sure she didn't look too dressy. That, of course, only took maybe half a minute. Then she looked at the clock again—five minutes until they were supposed to meet. She didn't want to show up early, because then she'd look eager, and while she _was_ kinda eager, there wasn't any need for Boomer to know that.  
  
She floated downstairs, pausing at the door to the Professor's lab—she could hear him working, somewhere deep in there. After flipping the TV on and off, finishing a glass of water, and staring out the kitchen window for a while, another two minutes had passed.  
  
“Rrrrmph!” she huffed, and jumped up and down a little in frustration. If anyone had been watching, she probably would've looked a little crazy. Then she cinched it by talking to herself.  
  
“What's the big deal?! So what if it's kind of a date?! I like him, don't I? It's not a big deal! It doesn't have to be! We hang out all the time anyway! It's just like hanging out! Except we both like each other, and honestly, that's not a big deal, none of this is a big deal, I like him and he obviously likes me, and he's a nice guy and hasn't done anything weird or villain-y since—”  
  
She halted, a sort of sadness sinking into her, overtaking the exuberance that had fueled her outburst.  
  
 _Except he_ has _done villain-y things_ , she thought desolately. He'd humiliated Ashley, and had almost attacked Will, and sometimes he said weird things that sounded like a joke coming out of other people but sounded like a threat coming out of him...  
  
If she thought about it, the stuff wasn't that much different from what a teenager prone to troublemaking and pranking would do. But this was Boomer. A Rowdyruff Boy. His level of troublemaking and pranking went above and beyond the average person's, and she knew firsthand because she'd once been a victim of it.  
  
Her anxiousness about the date-that-wasn't-a-date now tempered by her troubled thoughts, she glanced at the clock. She was late by a minute.  
  
She didn't hurry out the door, even though she kind of wanted to. She could've flown faster, but she didn't, even though she kind of wanted to do that, too. And when she spotted him standing outside of the music store that was their meeting place, grinning into the sky as she approached, she didn't throw herself into his arms, though that would've been... nice.  
  
She landed delicately on the ground, trying not to smile too broadly at him.  
  
“Sorry I'm late.”  
  
“That's okay. I would've waited for you forever.”  
  
She smirked past the twinging in her heart.  
  
“Very cute. But a simple 'Hi' would do.”  
  
As she started to walk past him into the store, his arm suddenly reached out across her stomach, grasping her lightly at the waist and stopping her.  
  
Boomer angled his face towards hers and said, “Hi.”  
  
She stared at him, trying not to blush or reach for him herself. She almost brushed her hand along his, resting on her waist, but refrained from doing so.  
  
“Hi,” she said quietly, half-smiling, and touched his hand, lifting it away.  
  
She walked into the store, and felt Boomer behind her.  
  
***  
  
It was a warm July day in Townsville—not scorching, but maybe a touch outside of comfortable—and as Blossom floated along the sidewalk on her way home from practice, she huffed out a bit of her ice breath to keep her face cool. There was the faintest tinkling sound as the crystals touched her skin.  
  
She was feeling better about the Officer Induction Dance since first being told of its theme, as the choreography wasn't nearly as... risqué as she'd feared, though she was still a little uncertain as to how the Professor would react. The girls had shown her the outfit they'd picked out for her, too, and even that wasn't so bad. About the only body parts exposed were her shoulders and legs, and her legs at least would be covered by a pair of nearly opaque stockings. She even kinda dug the corset top, and the boots, oh God, the boots. Blossom had a real soft spot for footwear.  
  
Tomorrow the Company would be getting all its new members together (or at least the ones who weren't currently vacationing) to start rehearsing their big group dance. Mrs. Olson had asked the officers to bring any ideas they had to the table, and Blossom already had some things floating around her head—they could showcase each team individually, and then move into group choreography for the entire Company all throughout...  
  
Her ice breath was keeping her cool, but she needed to stay hydrated, so she drifted into a nearby strip mall to pick up some water from a convenience store. She used her ice breath one last time—really, it was a handy power to have in this weather—to freeze half the water, then cracked the top open and sipped. On her way out of the small parking lot a sudden gleam of red caught her eye, and she paused next to a shiny red convertible.  
  
Brick's.  
  
Her eyes widened and she looked back at the row of stores, wondering which one he might be in. There was the convenience store she'd just walked out of, a bakery, a mattress store, and a Chinese takeout place at the end. None of them seemed like... well, like a “Brick” place, unless he had been hungry.  
  
Blossom bounced on her feet a bit and looked back and forth from his car to the line of stores. Then she started to casually float by the store windows, peering in askance. He hadn't been in the convenience store when she'd purchased her water, and the bakery was empty, too. She half-heartedly swept her eyes across the expanse of mattresses, but didn't find him there either, and besides, she didn't know what he'd be doing there anyway. The Chinese takeout place was Brick-less, too.  
  
Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it wasn't his car.  
  
Although, few people in Townsville had the money for a car like that, and even then, she was pretty sure Brick owned the only Coil in the city...  
  
She shook her head. He wasn't here. She'd been mistaken. A faint disappointment tugged at her chest, and she distracted herself by chugging her water so fast the cold almost hurt.  
  
They hadn't spoken since that day at the beach last month.  
  
She floated past the stores again, and a figure in the mattress store sat up from the beds. Blossom paused, watching as Brick turned and frowned at the mattress, then moved to another one, leaning on it to test its firmness, then laid down on it, once again disappearing from her line of sight.  
  
Her heart started skittering about in her chest and she thought to herself, _Stop that_. Then she thought to herself, _What's Brick doing in a mattress store_?  
  
 _Buying a mattress, obviously.  
  
But what's he need a mattress for_?  
  
 _To sleep on, duh_!  
  
Her brain was being remarkably unhelpful. Whatever. She opened the door and decided she'd ask Brick herself.  
  
***  
  
Brick had been putting this off because going out to buy a new bed was like admitting that Darius had won—or felt like it, at least. But a month on the couch was all he could take. So here he was, bed shopping, because he couldn't spend an entire school year sleeping in the living room.  
  
An entire school year. God.  
  
Brick was trying not to dwell, but there were other things unsettling him. He hadn't been able to get through to headquarters, even just to call Penny. When he'd tried, it claimed the number didn't exist, though he suspected that really, the Boys' line had been blocked. Then, at the beginning of the month, a very unsettling thing had happened: he'd received a rent check.  
  
JS handled the billing, so all the checks were technically supposed to go to headquarters. Normally, Brick would've written it off as a mistake and forwarded it. But considering the circumstances, he was pretty sure this was intentional.  
  
He didn't spend money like his brothers, so he had enough saved up. He'd gone ahead and paid it, cursing Darius all the while. He wasn't sure what to do if they received another—no, when they received it. No amount of minimum wage jobs for teenagers was going to pay for their ridiculously high rent, not even if all three of them started working. Besides, Butch would just steal it. And Brick... there was no way in hell Brick would reduce himself to working a fucking job so beneath him. It was a waste of his talents.  
  
The third and final unsettling thing—though on the unsettling scale, it didn't quite top the first two—was a note he'd received today, reading:  
  
 _Troubles at home. I'll fill you in later.  
  
-P_  
  
So even Penny wasn't permitted to initiate contact with the Boys. Brick had not been exaggerating when he'd first interpreted this whole vacationing in Townsville as banishment.  
  
No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't kill Darius immediately. He had to take it one thing at a time, even if it meant admitting defeat in small ways like paying the God damn rent or buying a God damn bed. The whole bed thing was turning out to be a big ordeal, too; none of these mattresses were firm enough—  
  
There came the sound of a very girlish throat-clearing, followed by a wary, “Brick?”  
  
He shot up and found Blossom standing at the foot of the mattress he was testing out, her eyes wide with curiosity.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
He stared at her for a second before replying, “Buying a mattress, obviously.”  
  
Her face expressed the tiniest fraction of frustration at his response.  
  
“I mean... what recent circumstances put you in a situation where you have to go out and buy a mattress?” After a pause, she added, “Obviously.”  
  
When he didn't answer immediately, she continued, “Are you having trouble sleeping? Or... is it bad dreams?”  
  
Brick almost felt offended that she could suggest he'd be affected by something as insignificant as a nightmare.  
  
“I don't dream,” he said.  
  
“You... you don't?”  
  
“I mean... well, I dream, but I...” He sat down on another mattress and looked at her. “I'm in control of them. I lucid dream.”  
  
Blossom looked a little impressed. “How do you do that?”  
  
He shrugged. “I just... I've done it since I was eleven, I guess, or twelve. Something like that. One night I just realized I was in a dream and I've done it ever since.”  
  
“So what does a person who's in control of their dreams... dream about?”  
  
 _Coups. Ruling the world. Their own general awesomeness as a person_. “Whatever I want.”  
  
Blossom's gaze shifted from him to the mattress he was sitting on.  
  
“How's that one?”  
  
He bounced on it a bit.  
  
“It's okay. A little too springy.”  
  
“So what did happen to the other one?”  
  
He sighed and stood. “The other one broke.”  
  
“'Broke?' Broke how?”  
  
He laid down on another mattress and immediately sat back up, cringing. Too soft.  
  
“I kinda broke it.”  
  
“How did you—” Blossom suddenly cut herself off, her voice squeaking in her hastiness to do so, and Brick looked at her, confused by the sound. She was burning red, so much so that the bottle of ice water in her hand was practically defrosting.  
  
“Sorry!” she exclaimed frantically. “It's none of my business! I don't really want to know how you broke your bed at all! Forget I said anything!”  
  
He stared at her a long moment, which only encouraged her to blush more.  
  
“Well, unfortunately for me,” he started, and passed her to test out another mattress, “you are mistaken.”  
  
He could almost hear her blinking. “Oh?”  
  
The store employee came scurrying up to greet Blossom, making a point of avoiding the scary boy lying all over all his inventory.  
  
“Oh no, I'm not buying,” she corrected him, shaking her head. He reluctantly turned to Brick.  
  
“Is there anything I can help you with—”  
  
“Save it,” Brick said. “I'm still looking. You're still waiting.”  
  
“Brick,” Blossom said reproachfully.  
  
“Blossom,” Brick intoned in a similar fashion, and Blossom huffed. A thought occurred to him, and he glanced at her.  
  
“What are you doing here, anyway?”  
  
Her eyes immediately widened and went to the floor, and she was quiet for a moment, as if she was struggling to think of an answer. Brick waited, his heart rate increasing just that much more.  
  
“I just thought I'd drop by and say, 'Hi,'” she finally said, looking up and smacking her bottle lightly against her hand. “I saw your car in the lot.”  
  
He stared at her, unsure of what to make of her answer and even less sure of what to make of his reaction.   
  
There was a twisting in his chest as he forced his gaze away from her and mumbled, “Hi.”  
  
As he laid down he could hear her shuffle a little bit closer.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
***  
  
Buttercup was late.  
  
It wasn't a big issue, because there weren't a lot of people out to see a knife demonstration, but she'd wanted to be up front, right next to the action. When she got to the kitchen specialty store in the mall, it'd already started, and she had to settle for peering over a couple of people's shoulders.  
  
It would've been easier to float, but she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. Buttercup in a kitchen store? She had a reputation to keep.  
  
Of course, she _was_ there to see a knife demonstration...  
  
The guy nattered on and angled the blade of the knife—an eight-inch chef's knife—so the glare from the overhead lights glinted off its glossy metal. It looked gorgeous, Buttercup had to admit. Their knives at home weren't bad, but they were old, and even when Buttercup sharpened them now they didn't cut that well.  
  
These glossy (and expensive) knives had no trouble. The guy rapidly sliced his way through tomatoes and cucumbers, then finely diced an onion and some garlic for good measure. Buttercup watched covetously, wanting the weight of the knife in her hand so she could do the same. With all the cooking she'd been doing, her knife technique was nearly as good as this guy's already.  
  
After the demo, she walked around the store, spending some significant time in the knife section. She was about two weeks away from completing the punishment the Professor had issued way back in March. A lot of her was looking forward to it, because there was a second cookbook by the same chef that had a bunch of recipes she really wanted to try... the Professor had just left it furtively lying around in her general vicinity...  
  
While she'd kept it to herself, their father was a sharp man, and, after observing her in the kitchen muttering about the knives and seasoning and other cooking sundries, had offered to replace their knives if she found a decent, reasonably priced set. After researching online for a week, she had a good idea what she wanted.  
  
She located her brand and settled on a standard chef's knife, a paring knife, and a cleaver. She stopped by the cutting boards and was very tempted by the thick, heavy wooden ones—they only had plastic at home—but that wasn't in her budget.  
  
As she passed by the mixers, it suddenly dawned upon her how very... domestic she felt. Of course, the cutesy little aprons adorning the racks next to the mixers didn't help.  
  
She frowned at them, then looked back at the section she'd just come out of. Chef's aprons over there by the knives. Girly little kitchen aprons over here, with the baking wares. Even kitchen stores were gendered.  
  
She scoffed in disgust, resisting the urge to look at the mixers (even though she'd kind of wanted to) and made her way to the register. If the boys had been here, they'd have given her such shit. They knew she was cooking at home more often now as a punishment, but it was one thing to be told that and another to actually see her in action, or in a store, _shopping for kitchen stuff_. They'd have tailed her inside, drawn her to the ladies' section, and teased her about modeling some of those stupid aprons, like Mitch had done with the dresses...  
  
She hesitated in line, glancing back at the aprons. She would've kicked the boys' asses, and forced aprons over _their_ stupid fat heads, but there was a time where she might've—maybe—possibly—put one on for Mitch.  
  
The boys were all vacationing somewhere. The twins' family took a road trip to Vegas every summer to visit relatives, Harry went to Florida to visit his Grandma, and Mitch had gone to Montana to see his dad. Well, presumably. She hadn't exactly talked to him, but she'd known him long enough that she knew without having to ask.  
  
Last year Mitch had talked about bringing his dad back with him for a week (even though his mom wouldn't have liked that) so Buttercup could meet him. She assumed that had gone out the window. They'd never really made plans, anyway. But she wondered what his dad was like, all the same.  
  
As she dumped her stuff on the counter, she ran a hand through her hair. It was down to her shoulders now. Getting long. Buttercup didn't like it, it was unmanageable. She'd only ever grown it long because he'd liked it.  
  
Her eyes softened at the memory of cutting it herself—butchering it, really—and how her sisters had taken over, intervened, and been so—  
  
“What the—Buttercup?”  
  
Her head snapped up to see Butch gaping at her from the front of the store, in the main part of the mall. She didn't catch the subtle change in his expression at the sight of hers, still soft from reminiscing.  
  
He stared, then slowly began to smirk as he held up a hand in greeting.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
She laughed, a harsh sound that dissolved the soft edge she'd taken on.  
  
“Hey yourself.”  
  
***  
  
“Oh my God, check this out, check this out.” Boomer laughed as he swung an acoustic on and the hat that accompanied it. “This one comes with a _cowboy hat_.”  
  
Bubbles laughed as she strolled up. “Too bad it doesn't come with the rest of the outfit.”  
  
He grinned at her. “You're just itching to see me in some kicker jeans and chaps, aren't you?”  
  
She opened her mouth and held it there for a long moment, contemplating.  
  
“No.”  
  
He took off the hat and settled the acoustic back down.  
  
“The guitar even comes with a stupid horse on it, Christ.”  
  
“I like horses,” Bubbles said as they walked around to explore the rest of the music store.  
  
“You like your horses on guitars?”  
  
“I like horses in general. But preferably the living ones.” Suddenly her face lit up in surprise, and she trotted over to a section of the store filled with African drums. “Oh my gosh, they have djembes!”  
  
“What?”  
  
She struck the skin of one of them and played a simple rhythm before turning to Boomer.  
  
“Djembes. African drums.”  
  
He was looking at her with what might have been a little awe.  
  
“You play?”  
  
She shrugged. “I have one at home.”  
  
“How did I not know this?”  
  
“You've never been to my house, obviously.”  
  
“That'll have to change, obviously.”  
  
She laughed. “Maybe.”  
  
“Are there any other secrets I should know about you?”  
  
“Just that I have a way with percussive instruments,” she said lightly.  
  
“Like my heart,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes, and she pushed him away, groaning at the joke.  
  
She wandered off to look at some keyboards set up nearby, and tapped a key. Boomer came up beside her and started to plunk out something classical that she couldn't quite place.  
  
“So... have you thought about it?” he said casually, still playing. Bubbles wandered over to the next one and tapped another key.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And?”  
  
She looked up and met his eyes briefly, then let her gaze drift away.  
  
“I don't know.”  
  
“Would you date me if I brought about world peace and cured cancer?”  
  
She laughed. “Make it happen and then we'll talk.”  
  
“Close your eyes and I'll make it happen,” he said mischievously, wetting his lips.  
  
“Right. Nice try.”  
  
***  
  
“So you're out buying knives?” Butch kicked her shin. They were both seated on either end of a mall bench with cinnamon buns in their hands. Well, sort of seated. Butch was really lounging, with his legs splayed along half of the bench seat and over the back.  
  
“Bought 'em.” She pulled one out of the bag and held it up for Butch to see. He took it from her and started to open the packaging.  
  
“No no no, none of that,” she said, and snatched it back.  
  
“I just wanted a better look at it!”  
  
“You with a sharp, dangerous object in your hands is _not_ a good idea.”  
  
He sneered. “Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a _walking_ dangerous object.”  
  
“Congratulations,” she muttered and bit into her cinnamon bun.  
  
“The boys are all gone, aren't they?”  
  
“On vacation.”  
  
“So what do you do for some real fuckin' fun around here?”  
  
Buttercup drew her knees up on the bench. “I've been living here all my life and I still don't know. Sit around waiting for monsters to show up, I guess. We never used to go anywhere when we were kids because something was always attacking, like on a daily basis.” After a pause, her face clouded over, and she muttered, “We tried to go somewhere, once. But... we were afraid something would happen.”  
  
He swallowed a bite and scoffed. “To your precious city?”  
  
“Watch it, Dr. Evil,” she said shortly, glaring. “But yeah. So what?”  
  
“So whatever.”  
  
“So anyway.” She peeled off a piece of her bun and popped it in her mouth. “We don't get a lot of attacks these days. 'Cept for the monsters. All the villains got older, and some of them even retired, so we don't see them around as much anymore. Mojo's still active, but even he only shows up every few months or so.”  
  
“What about Him?”  
  
Buttercup shot him a sharp look. “I thought you'd know.”  
  
“We ain't seen the guy since we left,” Butch said, inhaling the rest of his cinnamon bun.  
  
She stared at him, suspicion etched all over her face. “He disappeared not long after you guys.”  
  
They sat there in silence until Butch reached for her cinnamon bun. She came to and jerked it away.  
  
“You're not even eating it!” he cried.  
  
She responded by stuffing the rest of it in her mouth.  
  
He held out a hand. “Spit it out. I'll still eat it.”  
  
“Yuir difgufting,” she managed. “And no.”  
  
“Wanna go somewhere?”  
  
She looked up. “Like where?”  
  
He hitched up his shoulders. “Eh. Your sisters and my brothers are around if something happens to Townsville. We've got speed. We can fly. We can go anywhere we want.”  
  
She smirked. “Like Hawaii.”  
  
“Like Hawaii. Or New York.”  
  
“Los Angeles.”  
  
“Paris.”  
  
“Venice.”  
  
“Australia.”  
  
“Toky—why the fuck would you want to go to Australia?”  
  
“To club some koalas and wallabies,” Butch responded. “Finish your thought.”  
  
“Tokyo.”  
  
“South Carolina.”  
  
“Okay, now you're being stupid.”  
  
“North Carolina.”  
  
“All the places in the world and you're naming fucking states.”  
  
“You ever been there?”  
  
“...No.”  
  
“Then shut the fuck up. Wisconsin.”  
  
Buttercup snickered. “For the cheese?”  
  
“And the awesome party times, fuck, I don't know. Idaho.”  
  
“Colorado,” Buttercup said, grinning.  
  
“Ohio.”  
  
“Texas.”  
  
“Oklahoma.”  
  
“Montan—” Buttercup stopped, though she didn't mean to. It was just the name of a state. Just because Mitch was there didn't mean she wasn't allowed to say its name. But even so, she stopped. She didn't mean to. Hadn't meant to.  
  
The abrupt way she'd cut off had caught Butch's attention, and he was staring at her. She'd told him where Mitch had gone, and for a second she thought he might ask her about how they'd broken up again.  
  
She sat back against the bench, directing her gaze to the denim of her jeans and ready to refuse to answer if he asked.  
  
Instead he nudged her knee with his foot.  
  
“Hey. Let's go fucking do something.”  
  
***  
  
“I think they want us to leave,” Bubbles whispered in an undertone.  
  
“What?” Boomer whispered back at her. “What gives you that idea?”  
  
“Well, we've been in here so long without buying anything, and they keep looking at us...”  
  
“Forget them. We're allowed to come in and browse.”  
  
Bubbles looked uncomfortable.  
  
“We should leave. I mean, if we're not—”  
  
Boomer groaned and caught sight of a harmonica display. He strode over, snatched one off the rack, and marched it over to the register.  
  
Five minutes later they were outside the store as Boomer played Dylan's “Just Like A Woman,” seated like a hobo with a harmonica. Bubbles stood next to him fidgeting, but was polite and didn't say anything.  
  
“I think this counts as loitering,” she said once Boomer finished his song.  
  
“No, this is more like advertising,” he said. “Free advertising, no less! 'Come into this music store! Learn the secrets of awesome harmonica playing! Be like this guy over here...'”  
  
He trailed off as he took in her nervous face, her gaze fixated on the store employees who kept shooting them dirty looks through the window. He made a mental note to slash the employees' tires later.  
  
He stood and held out a hand to her.  
  
“Come on. Let's go.”  
  
Bubbles smiled gratefully at him, but didn't take his hand. They started floating side by side through the lot, and after a moment Boomer lifted the harmonica to his lips again and played a little of The Beatles' “Love Me Do.”  
  
She giggled. “Where'd you learn to play the harmonica?”  
  
He paused in his playing long enough to grin at her. “Just picked it up.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Boomer and Bubbles looked up to find Butch and Buttercup coming towards them, snowcones in hand.  
  
“Hey!” Bubbles waved as they came up. “What are you guys doing here?”  
  
“Walkin',” Butch replied simply.  
  
“Ooh, what flavor is that...” Bubbles hovered over Buttercup's snowcone, and Buttercup handed her her spoon.  
  
“I dunno. Red flavor.”  
  
As Bubbles partook of her sister's refreshment, Boomer glanced at his brother's snowcone, then looked hopefully at Butch.  
  
Those green eyes narrowed and shot a warning beam at his brother's feet.  
  
“Dude! I didn't even ask!”  
  
“You asked with those stupid puppy eyes of yours.”  
  
They started bickering and trailed the girls as they walked ahead of them, until they rounded the corner and Buttercup halted.  
  
“Holy shit,” she whispered.  
  
All three of them looked up to see her wide-eyed and gaping at something further down the street.  
  
“What? What is it?” Bubbles asked.  
  
Buttercup practically flung what remained of the snowcone at Boomer (“Sweet!”) and took off, sailing towards the opposite end of the street and stopping in a parking lot half a block down. The rest of them exchanged a glance, then took off after her.  
  
She was gazing upon a sparkling red convertible with such reverence that it wouldn't have seemed out of place for her to kneel and offer up a sacrifice. Butch and Boomer recognized the car.  
  
“What the hell is Brick doing here?” Butch said, wrinkling his face and looking around.  
  
“Maybe he got hungry?” Boomer suggested, indicating the bakery and Chinese place.  
  
Bubbles was staring through the window of the biggest store.  
  
“Or lonely.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Guh,” Buttercup only intoned, still taking in the Coil.  
  
Bubbles pointed, and the boys followed the line of her arm to the inside of the mattress store, where Brick and Blossom could be seen chatting. And rising off a bed. Together.  
  
The snowcone in Butch's hands melted down into watery slush. He chucked it.  
  
Bubbles zipped into the store, Boomer and Butch behind her (they left Buttercup to her private time).  
  
“I think it's between this one and that one,” Brick said, indicating two different mattresses.  
  
“That first one was firmer,” Blossom said, pressing down on the mattress in question.  
  
“You think? I don't know, I thought—”  
  
“Hey, _sis_ ,” Bubbles said loudly, and Blossom jumped. “Hey, _Brick_.”  
  
“Bubbles!” A flushed Blossom turned to greet her sister, flanked by Brick's brothers. “Um, hi!” She started to flail about. “I was just, um, just, just—”  
  
“Bed shopping with Brick,” Bubbles finished, her eyes twinkling innocently, and Blossom looked like she wanted to crawl in a hole and die somewhere. “Didn't you have dance practice?”  
  
“It's done! I was in the neighborhood! I was just thirsty!” Blossom cried, pointing out her near empty water bottle as if it meant something.  
  
Bubbles turned from her flustered sister to an unflappable Brick. “What are you doing bed shopping?”  
  
“He broke his about a month ago,” Boomer interjected. Bubbles' eyes widened slightly.  
  
“Is that so? Congratulations.”  
  
“Everybody keeps taking that the wrong way,” Brick muttered, and started to make his way to the register. He pointed at the one Blossom had suggested. “I'm going with that one.”  
  
Butch fell into step beside him. “Because your girlfriend said so?” he muttered in a voice only Brick could hear, and Brick whirled on him, glaring.  
  
“ _That's not fucking funny_ ,” he snarled as Bubbles continued to tease her sister in the background. Boomer was enjoying the remains of Buttercup's snowcone. Butch was staring at him, his green eyes dark and his expression grim.  
  
“Really? I think it's fucking hilarious,” he said flatly.  
  
Brick glared at his brother a moment longer, then scoffed in disgust and paid for his new bed. He ignored the weight of Butch's gaze boring into his back as he made arrangements to pick up his mattress later, after driving his car back home. Fuck Butch and his moods. He could get all pissy over absolutely nothing.  
  
Brick continued to ignore him as he pocketed his receipt and floated back, past the girls and Boomer and towards the exit. Outside he found Buttercup standing in front of his car, her pupils dilated.  
  
“She's beautiful,” she breathed, angling her head slightly, and Brick felt a little glow of pride at the compliment.  
  
“You've got good taste.” The rest of their siblings joined them.  
  
“Buttercup?” Blossom asked. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I looked under your hood,” Buttercup said to Brick, her pupils returning to their normal size as her X-ray vision clicked off.  
  
He smirked. “Like what you saw?”  
  
She looked a little... well, really, the only word for how Buttercup looked was lusty.  
  
“You do have one hell of an engine.”  
  
“Are you two done having eye sex yet?” Butch snapped, and Brick, Buttercup, and Blossom all shot him a furious look.  
  
“What the fuck is your problem?” Buttercup griped.  
  
“His problem is he's a whiny little bitch,” Brick answered.  
  
“My problem is you're a giant fucking prick,” Butch retorted.  
  
“Will you all stop with the language?!” Blossom cried.  
  
“War!” Boomer suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs. “What is it good for?”  
  
“Absolutely nothing!” Bubbles responded.  
  
“Why are you suddenly so God damn moody?” Buttercup demanded.  
  
“ _I'm not_!” Butch snarled.  
  
“Then stop PMS'ing!”  
  
Bubbles looked a little desperate. “Um, war? What is it good for?” she attempted. Buttercup and Butch went right on arguing.  
  
“Will you please cut out the _cursing_?!” Blossom shrieked.  
  
“This is what I get for interacting with other people,” Brick announced, and muscled his way into his car. “I'm fucking leaving—”  
  
A sudden tingle rippled through Brick's body, and he snapped to with a jolt, head swiveling around to examine the street. Nothing. But—  
  
His blood was pounding. The world seemed suddenly to take on this otherworldly feel to him alone.  
  
 _Him_.  
  
All three of the girls' cell phones went off. Blossom got to hers first.  
  
“Mayor? What's the trouble?”  
  
***  
  
The boys went with them—Boomer, because he didn't want to leave Bubbles, Butch, because, in his own words, he “could really use to punch something,” and Brick, because he wasn't about to run away.  
  
The feeling intensified, made his scalp tingle as his hair stood on end. He trailed after the group, eyes attempting to take in everything as they flew through the city.  
  
“I see it,” Blossom announced, and dived.  
  
They all stopped just above the cloudy mass of black fog that curled lazily along the street, no more than two feet high.  
  
“Do you think it's safe to land?” Bubbles asked.  
  
They all looked around; most of the townspeople in this area had been evacuated, but some stragglers were still scurrying away, though the fog. Nothing appeared to happen, save for the gentle displacement of smoky black tendrils as they ran.  
  
“It looks like it's okay,” Buttercup said, but she didn't land.  
  
“What if it's okay to humans, but deadly to... to us?” Bubbles said, eyes widening in a little fear.  
  
“Better to play it safe,” Blossom said quietly, but then a light scuffling sound behind her drew her attention. Brick had lowered himself to the ground and was staring up at them as the black mass swirled around him.  
  
“It's fine,” he said, and he swept his eyes around the area, still looking for Him.  
  
As they all landed, the girls more warily than his brothers, he took in the area the black fog covered. It appeared to be two, maybe a maximum of three blocks in each direction, and not spreading.  
  
It may have been his imagination, but it sounded like there was the faintest high-pitched sigh as he looked around.  
  
“Did you hear that?” he asked quietly, and everyone looked up.  
  
“Hear what?” Boomer asked.  
  
“I didn't hear anything,” said Buttercup.  
  
Blossom edged closer. “What did it sound like, Brick?”  
  
He didn't answer. But he did look at her, his eyes catching on her face, and—it was a fleeting thought, really—he hoped that whatever Him wanted had nothing to do with her.  
  
The smoky black fog at his feet curled that much more sharply, became that much thicker, and hissed faintly at him.  
  
The sound of a small blast interrupted the eerie silence, and they looked to see Butch, faint green steam rising off his mitt and the blackened area of the street that he'd hit. The black fog had shifted, though it didn't appear to have recoiled, merely—as with the townspeople running through it—displaced by the blow, briefly exposing the street before it crawled back over to reclaim it.  
  
Butch shrugged. “Was worth a shot.”  
  
A blink later, all the fog had disappeared. Just like that, it was back to being an ordinary section of the city, save for all the empty buildings.  
  
Bubbles gasped as Buttercup muttered, “What the hell?”  
  
“Where did it go?” Blossom said, brow furrowed as they all scanned the area. She and her sisters spread out, instinctively, protectively.  
  
“Is it gone?” Boomer wondered.  
  
There was a sudden familiar shiver that rippled in the air, and Brick hastily darted a glance at his brothers. They showed no reaction whatsoever.  
  
“No,” he said quietly, hearing a familiar high-pitched voice speaking with his own. “It isn’t.”  
  
The rest of the world was suddenly moving in slow motion, his brothers and the girls nearly frozen in time. Brick watched the dark, shadowy figure just beyond them.  
  
“My boy,” It said. “It’s been a long time.”  
  
“I guess so.” Brick’s voice was flat. His eyes drifted over to Buttercup and Butch, in the midst of taking off to get a better view. Blossom’s eyes were still moving, though at a quarter of the speed they had been mere moments ago.  
  
The shadow chuckled. “Is that all you have to say?”  
  
“Not like I ever had that much to say to begin with.”  
  
There was a sinister smile curling along that figure’s face.  
  
“But so _much_ has happened since we’ve seen each other. This—” And here the figure indicated the six boys and girls scattered amidst the debris. “Being the least of it.”  
  
Only Brick could see Him, and now He snaked from one superbeing to another, pausing at each one and carefully inspecting their faces.  
  
“You thought you were escaping your life—escaping _me_ —and yet, here you are—”  
  
“Coming back wasn’t my choice,” Brick said with a shrug.  
  
The shadow paused at Boomer. “Hm. You’ve gotten much better at controlling that temper of yours.”  
  
Brick smirked, smug. “When it counts.”  
  
“Does she?”  
  
Suddenly the figure was wrapping itself around an unaware Blossom, its black mass slithering up her legs, curving along her midsection and peering into her face.  
  
Brick shot down the sudden snarl that rose to the back of his throat. “That one? She barely counts for anything,” he scoffed.  
  
The figure considered Brick a moment, then slowly eased itself away from Blossom and circled around him.  
  
“You’ve gotten good at many things, my boy,” Him said ponderously, then leaned in. “Yet, self-awareness still isn't one of them. And while we're on the subject, your lying could use a little work.”  
  
The corner of Brick’s mouth twitched. The silhouette continued to examine him. When He spoke again, that high-pitched tone nearly rumbled into a low, threatening growl.  
  
“I was _very_ unhappy with you when you left.”  
  
“Your happiness was never really a concern of mine,” Brick replied, not masking the contempt that crept into his voice.  
  
“You were a source of great pride for me,” He went on. “And, naturally, great disappointment.”  
  
“We’ve all got to let go of our darlings sometime,” Brick said sagely. “Birds gotta fly, and all that garbage.”  
  
“I put too much faith in you,” He growled.  
  
Brick smiled. “Coming from you, that’s a well-earned compliment. Are you seriously suggesting I humbled the Devil?”  
  
A wave of hatred radiated from the black mass swirling around him, then quickly settled. Brick simply waited.  
  
Seeming to reach some inner decision, the figure circled behind him and said in a light tone, “So tell me what you think of this new project of mine.”  
  
“You're talking about the black fog? What do I care? I was never into your dumb games,” Brick said disinterestedly.  
  
“It feeds on turmoil,” His voice went on, giddy with delight. “Turmoil of the heart.”  
  
Brick narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”  
  
“An unsettled, conflicted heart is of significant interest to this… creature.”  
  
Brick made to respond, but his attention was suddenly on the five persons around him, all of whom seemed to be screaming at him in slow motion. Blossom was running in his direction, eyes frantic, her arms extended, reaching—  
  
His eyes went wide and he looked down, the entirety of that black mass pooling at his feet, converging at a single point: Brick.  
  
“It means you’re in a lot of trouble, my boy,” Him laughed viciously, and Blossom suddenly crashed into him, sending them both flying yards away against the asphalt, the black mass licking at their heels.  
  
“Brick!” a plethora of voices suddenly echoed, and he lifted his head, dazed. A dark shadow skittered like a giant roach on steroids toward him, and he gasped, flinging Blossom away and rolling backwards to his feet.  
  
The mass moved like a liquid and a solid all at once, and reared up, aiming for him.  
  
“ _Brick_!” Blossom screamed on the other side of it, and it suddenly whipped around, its attention on her.  
  
“What the—” Butch said as the remaining four of them came up.  
  
Brick’s eyes were glued to the mass as it… _turned_ from him to Blossom again and again, seemingly unable to decide who to attack.  
  
“Enough of this crap,” Buttercup grumbled, and shot a green blast of energy at it.  
  
With catlike reflexes it dove down, narrowly avoiding the blast, and Brick fired one of his own, a move that inspired it to take on him after all. It ducked out of the way and flew towards his face, smacking against the green shield Butch formed like a dome around him.  
  
It butted against the shield a couple of times, avoiding several other green and blue blasts fired at it, then disappeared into the asphalt.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Brick whispered. “Butch! Shield off!”  
  
“What?!” Butch cried. “Where the fuck did it go?!”  
  
Suddenly the black mass shot out of the ground at Brick’s feet, bounced off the inside of the shield, and dove for Brick again.  
  
“Shield down!” Brick snapped, rolling and ducking out of the way. “Shield down, God damn it!” He fell back against the wall of the shield, then hit the floor as it disappeared.  
  
With Brick on the ground, the mass bulleted toward him, rising into a spiked edge aimed at his heart.  
  
Butch threw up a vertical flat shield and arced it back towards the ground, attempting to squash the mass as Boomer and Blossom snatched either of Brick’s arms and dashed him out of harm’s way.  
  
“It’s dodging every fucking thing we fire at it!” Buttercup shouted, sending blast after blast at it with none of them connecting.  
  
“How are we supposed to _stop_ this thing?!” Bubbles shrieked, alternating between firing blasts from her fists and her eyebeams. “What does it even _do_?”  
  
Brick merely panted for breath, glaring daggers at the thing that seemed hellbent on attacking him. Butch was trying to contain it between flat shields as Buttercup and Bubbles fired at it again and again—  
  
Blossom was at his side, frantic concern etched in those features of hers.  
  
“Are you okay?” she asked, voice edging on desperate as she shook his shoulder, and in the distance the mass abruptly turned its attention to them.  
  
It snaked away from the three that were attacking it, flattening itself between Butch’s shields and jetting towards Brick, Blossom, and Boomer.  
  
It spiraled into a sharp point again, and Brick flung Blossom out of the way.  
  
“Get out of here, Brick!” Boomer leaped in front of him, forming a bat between his fists and pulling it back.  
  
Brick took off as Boomer swung.  
  
The spike shattered as Boomer connected with it, the pieces of it scattering across the ground like glass. Almost instantly it was forming again, each piece connecting with another as they fired off into the air after Brick. Boomer shielded his face with his arms as they cut through the air, slashing the sleeves of his shirt.  
  
“Cover your ears!” Bubbles shrieked, and then let loose with a shrill, earsplitting scream.  
  
The boys hadn't reacted as fast as the girls, and for the briefest second Brick could feel his brain painfully vibrating in his skull. Even once his hands were muffling the sound he could _feel_ her scream; it rattled every bone in his body. He dimly registered glass shattering and thought that giving a superpowered girl the ability to scream her head off was oddly appropriate.  
  
Bubbles' scream had its intended effect, and the black mass twisted in the air, writhing as if in pain. It fell to the ground, landing at her feet.  
  
She ran out of voice and scrambled back, away from it, but then hesitated. It simply writhed on the ground, and Brick narrowed his eyes in thought.  
  
Butch floated up, wanting to get a better look at it.  
  
“Watch it!” Buttercup shouted.  
  
“Careful!” Blossom cried, and the mass suddenly seemed to _reach_ for Butch, who halted.  
  
 _Bubbles is still closer to it than Butch_ , Brick thought, remembering Him's words. An unsettled heart...  
  
She only knew joy and how to exude it. She was more comfortable with her heart's feelings and desires than anyone else here.  
  
Brick ignored what that really meant in regards to himself (Him was always playing stupid, emotional games like this, that bastard) and merely thought this: _Bubbles is the way to stop it_.  
  
Even now the black mass was gaining strength again. It moved quicker, lashed out, and, as everyone fired at it, it dodged every blast and zipped towards Blossom.  
  
Brick's eyes flashed and he sped down, forgetting to think. He was cursing himself an instant later, because Blossom was perfectly capable of flying herself, and had taken off on her own. His intervention was completely unnecessary; he wasn't even close enough to her to save her, and now, now the black mass turned and sped in his direction.  
  
 _You fucking idiot_ , he thought viciously to himself.  
  
Bubbles plowed into him, darting him away with the mass in hot pursuit. Brick couldn't have asked for a better opportunity.  
  
“I know how to stop it!” he shouted at Bubbles as they picked up speed and began to pull away from their attacker.  
  
“How?!” she cried back.  
  
“Just land!”  
  
Her eyes looked hesitant, but she dutifully landed, Brick at her side. They turned to see the black mass hurtling towards them out of the sky, their siblings following.  
  
 _This'll work_ , Brick thought. _There's no conflict in this girl's heart for this thing to feed on_.  
  
“Brick,” Bubbles said, voice tense and wary. “What now?”  
  
Their siblings were screeching at them to get out of the way. Brick stood his ground, with Bubbles growing more frantic at his side by the second and the black mass nearly upon them, too close to focus on anyone other than Brick.  
  
“Brick—” Bubbles started, and he looked her dead in the eye. He snatched her by the arm and wrested her in front of him just as the mass twisted into a menacing, pointed spike, and speared her in the chest.  
  
He felt her body jerk under his arms from the impact, every last bit of it coiling into her and disappearing. There wasn’t even an entry wound.  
  
She wobbled as she turned, her eyes wide with shock and glassing over even as she looked at him.  
  
 _This'll work_...  
  
He stared at her as she buckled to the ground, clutching at her heart as she fell, and he felt the tiniest twinge of guilt.  
  
Something plowed into him, tackling him to the ground. He hit the street hard, sending asphalt flying everywhere as his body carved a deep trench into the road.  
  
“ _How could you_?!” Blossom was screaming at him as she punched him, her fists connecting with his jaw, his stomach, his ribs on every single hit. He fumbled for her wrists, trying to stop her, and then she was suddenly hurled off of him and someone else's hands flew to his throat and squeezed.  
  
He had just exhaled and his lungs were immediately protesting the lack of oxygen. He tried not to struggle for breath—it was demeaning and pathetic—but with no air in his lungs and his windpipe being crushed it was impossible to avoid.  
  
He only saw her eyes, sharp and bright and a severe, glowing green.  
  
“You better have a good fucking reason, Brick,” Buttercup snarled, her grip tightening even more.  
  
He tried to punch her but she was too far for it to make a difference, tried to break one of her arms but they were absolutely immovable. Her expression hardened and she squeezed—  
  
A flash of green later she was whacked aside, and Brick gasped desperately for breath as Butch stood over him, glaring at the girls.  
  
“Don't protect him,” Blossom said viciously.  
  
“I told you, you ain't my leader,” Butch said, his voice low and threatening. “So don't even fucking _think_ of ordering me around.”  
  
“Get out of the fucking way, Butch,” Buttercup growled.  
  
He only looked at her, and green sparks began to flutter across his fist, building to a glowing green.  
  
“Wait,” Brick gasped, pulling himself up, his gaze catching on the unmoving girl splayed across the street, “I can explain—”  
  
“Do it fast, bro,” Butch said, never once removing his eyes from Buttercup.  
  
“She saved you!” Blossom shouted, her voice heavy with anger and betrayal. “It was coming for _you_ , and you—” She shuddered under the weight of her grief, her rage, unable to continue.  
  
Brick looked at her and realized he couldn't tell them it was drawn to a conflicted heart. They'd never believe it, and besides, he'd never... Him was playing games, He always was, and Brick knew himself, he knew there was only one thing his heart wanted, and it wasn't—  
  
“Spit it out,” Butch urged, and Brick struggled to his feet. As he did, he finally saw Boomer, standing a ways away from all of them. Boomer only stared at Brick, his expression conflicted and uncomprehending. Bubbles was visible behind him, and from this angle she almost looked like a tiny angel on his shoulder, reaching out to touch him.  
  
“There's nothing in Bubbles for it to feed on,” Brick said, shifting his gaze from his brother to the girls.  
  
“What does that mean?” Buttercup demanded.  
  
“It targets...” Brick racked his brain furiously for a suitable explanation, and all he could think of was a book title, over and over. “It targets people with... with darkness in their hearts.”  
  
Blossom blinked, confused. There wasn't the slightest change in Buttercup's expression.  
  
“Bubbles... she's always bright and happy. There's no darkness in that girl, no... evil thoughts or tendencies. That's why, even when it dropped right in front of her feet, it didn't go after her—”  
  
Blossom's eyes widened, and she suddenly looked stunned and trapped, evidently remembering how the mass had hurtled towards her.  
  
“You're lying.”  
  
They all looked at a sardonic Buttercup, her mouth twisted into a little sneer.  
  
“How do you know?” Brick asked.  
  
Her gaze darkened. “Because you said it goes after people with evil thoughts, and it didn't once attack me.”  
  
“You never got close enough,” Brick said confidently, and that sneer faded, just slightly.  
  
“How do you know what it's after?” Blossom suddenly spoke up. The viciousness in her voice had disappeared, but her words were still edged with a warning.  
  
Brick returned her level gaze and said quietly, “Him told me.”  
  
A faint rustling drew their attention, and everybody looked to see Bubbles, slowly sitting up. Inwardly, Brick heaved a gigantic sigh of relief. There would've been hell to pay with her sisters if he'd been wrong.  
  
Now they flew to her side. The blonde’s eyes were heavy-lidded behind her loose hair, the dilated pupils slowly focusing. Blossom had her sister’s face in her hands and cried her name over and over again. Buttercup pushed Blossom aside and pressed a hand to Bubbles’ heart.  
  
The boys looked on. Brick’s gaze drifted to Boomer, whose expression was stricken and wide-eyed.  
  
Buttercup darted a quick glance down the collar of Bubbles’ shirt. “There’s no blood,” she said, disbelieving. “There’s no cut, no nothing—”  
  
“Bubbles?” Blossom whispered, stroking their sister’s hair. “Bubbles, can you hear me?”  
  
Brick came up beside Boomer, who whispered, “I don't understand.”  
  
“Need me to explain it again?” Brick said.  
  
“No, I mean...” Boomer glanced at him, his brow furrowed. “I don't understand how you could do that to her.”  
  
Brick stared at his brother, digesting his words. An unsettling feeling took root as he glared at Boomer, daring him to elaborate.  
  
Boomer broke his gaze first, shifting his eyes almost guiltily back to the girls.  
  
Suddenly Bubbles moved to stand, eyelids still drooping, her limbs dangling like dead weights at her side. Blossom and Buttercup hastily stood.  
  
“Bubbles,” Blossom said again. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Brick,” she murmured, her voice rougher than any of them remembered it. “You're an asshole.”  
  
Brick blinked, and suddenly a powerful beam of blue struck him in the chest, sending him flying.  
  
“He kinda deserved that,” Butch observed.  
  
Bubbles' eyes snapped open, suddenly focusing, and as ribbons of black twisted out from where she stood she grabbed both her sisters by their necks and flung them into the sky.  
  
The girls hit the side of a building with a large _CRACK_ as spiderweb fractures issued from the impact, and the boys stared at Bubbles, agape. Brick clambered up to his feet, a good distance away.  
  
Where Bubbles stood was now her black silhouette, eyes burning blue. Those orbs of blue light narrowed, and then fired singeing beams at both Brick and Butch.  
  
Brick dove out of the way while Butch threw up a shield to deflect the blast. Brick immediately bulleted toward her, bringing his arm back to fire a blast—  
  
Her silhouette dropped into the asphalt, much as the mass had when it attacked Brick, and he halted.  
  
Suddenly that black mass tore out of the ground, socking him square in the gut, and as he flew back doubled over in pain it took on Bubbles’ silhouette again, shooting towards Butch and tackling him before he could fire or shield himself again.  
  
She—or it, or something—morphed into a shapeless black mass again, enveloping him like a net and crushing him into the ground.  
  
“What the _fuck_?!” he wheezed, trying to blast it away before it could suffocate him. “It’s like she’s turned into fucking Venom or something!”  
  
Blossom and Buttercup dragged themselves to their feet, having recovered, and at the sight of the mass attacking Butch they, Brick, and Boomer all made to tackle it.  
  
They all fell together in a mad tangle of screaming loose arms and legs, wrestling with the squirming black… _thing_. Suddenly it constricted, and the five of them were blown back in all directions, each recovering just in time to see it rising once again in Bubbles’ form.  
  
Brick lifted his arms to fire when Blossom shrieked, “ _No_! That’s Bubbles!”  
  
In response, Bubbles swiftly spun, firing blue blasts in all directions, each striking them all in the chest and throwing them to the ground.  
  
Amidst the fizzling blue smoke Butch coughed and grumbled sarcastically, “Yeah, that’s Blondie, alright.”  
  
Bubbles turned to where Buttercup was shifting to stand, and took to a run in her direction, transforming once again into a black mass just before it delivered a sharp uppercut to Buttercup’s jaw.  
  
As she sailed into another building, the mass turned to Brick, shaping into Bubbles once more and firing an enormously powerful blue blast at him, one that knocked him into the side of another structure.  
  
“She’s going to destroy the whole city at this rate!” Blossom cried, dodging the concrete debris.  
  
“The city?” Butch said incredulously as he threw up shield after shield to keep from getting hit. “Not to sound clichéd here, but I’d be a little more worried about what she’s going to do to _us_.”  
  
“We need to get that thing out of her,” Blossom went on, dodging various other blue blasts. “How do we get that thing out of her?”  
  
The blue beams suddenly stopped, and as Blossom paused, Bubbles rose up behind her and whispered in a strange, foreign voice, “You don’t.”  
  
She knocked her sister forward, and Blossom winced as her shoulder ate the asphalt.  
  
“Sorry about this, cutie.”  
  
Bubbles whipped around just in time to see Boomer slug her in the face with his bat.  
  
She hit the ground as a black mass and rose up again as Bubbles, bouncing back towards him as he readied to swing again.  
  
She suddenly stopped in mid-air, her black silhouette pulling away so the real Bubbles hovered, staring at him. He blinked, the bat in his hands crackling blue.  
  
The darkness skittered back, drawing away from her body and forming a black dome around them as she reached for his face.  
  
The bat gave one last spark, then faded. Bubbles' hand was cool against his skin, but it was the expression that did him in—that aching, conflicted expression on her face.  
  
“I really like you,” she whispered, and his eyes went wide.  
  
After a second to process the info, he beamed. “That's awesome! Also not really surprising, I mean, I'm a pretty likable guy—”  
  
Boomer could hear their siblings pounding on the dome, shouting. He eyed her.  
  
“Are you still psycho Venom Bubbles? Because they're probably pretty worried—”  
  
“But I don't know if you're any good,” she went on, seeming not to hear him or her sisters.  
  
His face fell. “But... I'm working on it! I can learn! You can teach me!”  
  
“This is hard for me, you know? You were so mean to me when we were kids—”  
  
“And I'm sorry. I mean it. I'm really, really—”  
  
“And even now, you do things that make me wonder... but being with you makes me so happy,” she said softly, tears shimmering in her eyes.  
  
The dim glow of something bright and warm began to build in his chest, and he looked elated. “You're happy? With me?”  
  
“I want to be,” she whispered, and then he started to say something else but stopped because she kissed him.  
  
The black dome encasing them was suddenly sucked away into the ether, dissipating like smoke. Their siblings staggered forward, blinking to get their bearings.  
  
“What just…” Butch started, then stopped as his eyes focused on the scene in front of him. “Happened.”  
  
He, Blossom, Brick, and Buttercup all stared at the couple in the center. Bubbles was floating in the air, holding Boomer’s stunned face as she kissed him.  
  
A dark cloud passed over Brick’s expression.  
  
Bubbles slowly lowered herself to the ground, pulling her lips away from Boomer’s and burrowing her face into his neck without looking at him once, as if she was afraid of what she might see. Her hands fisted in his shirt, and then, in a voice so tiny only he could hear her, she whispered—  
  
Boomer’s eyes widened even more, and he swallowed, overwhelmed by the weight of emotion behind that small voice of hers, the desperation in her grip as she clenched his shirt in her hands. He couldn't even lift an arm of his own to embrace her.  
  
Their siblings remained equally stupefied, and could only watch. And as Bubbles pulled back, just a bit so she could look at him, it felt like all the world was watching as Boomer's eyes softened and a furious blush rose to his face.  
  
 _-end Ch. 7-_


	9. Can't Sleep, But... or Some Other Beginning's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the ending to a different story. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: I still remember my own. My car felt very lonely as I drove away. I thought I'd never stop crying. Thanks to mathkid and Juxtaposie for the close attention they paid to a fictional character's heartbreak. This is a small prequel/backstory mini-chapter, though you probably don't even have to have read the rest of TEF to follow this. Regular TEF timeline resumes next chapter.

**More Than Human, Pt. 0.25 – Winter Previous  
December – Can't Sleep, But...** or **Some Other Beginning's End**  
 _-sbj-_

On the first day of their winter break, Bubbles awoke to the smell of breakfast flooding the house. After a sleepy, idyllic smile, she dragged herself up, surprised when she glanced over and saw she was alone in the room. When they didn't have school, Buttercup was usually the last one up.

The blonde scrambled into some clothes and, after a visit to the bathroom, jetted down the stairs. She paused at the kitchen door, eyeing an unnaturally alert Buttercup messing around with breakfasty things at the stove. Blossom and the Professor were seated at the table perusing the paper.

“You’re up early,” Bubbles said, voice carrying just enough suspicion to offend her sister. “For you, I mean.”

“So what?” Buttercup threw over her shoulder, not even looking. “Sounds like someone doesn’t want any pancakes.”

“Buttercup, tie your hair back or you’ll singe it off,” Blossom warned in a sing-songy voice, and everyone paused to recall the few inches they’d had to shear off of Buttercup’s long dark locks only days before. Their hair wasn’t as super-powered as the girls it sprung from.

Bubbles zipped to the stove and unwrapped one of the bands around her wrist, gathering her sister’s hair up and into a taut ponytail.

“Ow! Watch it!”

“Wow, Buttercup, your hair is way smoother than… wait.” Bubbles leaned in and sniffed experimentally. “This… you washed your hair? What did you use?”

“ _Shampoo_ ,” Buttercup said curtly. “And don’t say it like I’ve never washed my hair before.”

“She borrowed my conditioner,” Blossom answered, and Buttercup shot her a dirty look. Bubbles stared and ran her hands through and through her sister’s hair.

“Oh my God. I didn’t think hair like this grew on _you_.”

“Okay, you know what? You don’t get hair-touching privileges anymore, and pretty soon, you’re going to lose your pancake-eating privileges too,” Buttercup threatened.

There was a loud _SWOOSH_ followed by lots of tumbling into things, and a very tousled Blossom and Professor directed annoyed looks at Bubbles as they rose from the floor and readjusted their chairs.

Now seated primly at the table, she gave them both a very innocent look as she patted her hair and smoothly poured herself a glass of orange juice.

“Blossom, you are looking exceptionally professional this morning,” she said airily.

“I'm representing the Townsville Community Center on the news and talking about our Christmas Day soup kitchen.”

“My noble young lady,” the Professor said approvingly. He peered over his paper at Bubbles. “What are you up to today?”

“Meeting Will and the gang for shopping and lunch,” Bubbles said, and the Professor crumpled the edges of his paper.

“How nice,” he said in a strained voice.

“Presenting pancakes,” Buttercup announced, setting a huge stack of them down on the table.

“Joy!” Bubbles squealed, and dug in.

“What about you, Buttercup?” their father asked as she sat.

The girl mumbled something.

“What was that?”

She spoke up, but still the Professor couldn't make it out. Those with superhearing, however, did. Blossom's eyes darted briefly to her sister, while Bubbles' lit up with mischief.

“She's got a daaaate with Mitch,” Bubbles sang, and an angry blush rose to her sister's face.

“Shut _up_ ,” she growled, glaring daggers at Bubbles.

The Professor's paper was no more, smashed into a wrinkled ghost of its former self. The Professor wiped his ink-stained hands on a napkin.

“A date with Mitch,” he repeated, eye twitching, and Buttercup flushed red, bright enough to light a runway. “How... nice.”

***

Blossom and Bubbles scurried out the door right after breakfast. Buttercup lingered at the window and waited till the girls were out of sight, then thundered upstairs to their room, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. Taking care not to disrupt anything, she slowed as she gingerly approached the vanity her sisters shared and leaned close to the mirror, scrutinizing her face. Her eyes fell upon the reflection of numerous lipsticks and other… powdery, face things that she had no names for, and paused, considering. Then she came to her senses and shook her head, made a face for good measure, and pulled back. She paused again, then cocked her hips, inspecting her freshly laundered jeans. After a moment, she turned around to inspect her backside, making a point of rolling her eyes and sighing to demonstrate to any invisible audience members that this was _completely_ pointless and she wasn’t doing this because she wanted to or was _worried_ about it or anything.

Discarding the faintly giddy thought that her ass looked damn good with that denim hugging it, she smoothed out her t-shirt, briefly brought her hair up with both hands in a fake bun, reminded herself that she liked the feel of his hands running through her hair, and dropped it down again, combing it through with a brush she snatched off the desk.

She took a deep breath and exhaled, slapping the back of the brush against her mitt. She gave herself one last once-over, carefully extracted her hairs out of Blossom’s brush before setting it down, and then made her way to her bed, reaching for the worn leather bomber jacket hanging off the headboard, the _M_ on the inside lining catching her eye and inspiring the faintest hint of a blush across her cheeks.

Mitch had mentioned something about going to the skate park, maybe. She wanted to avoid coming back, if possible—she'd rather spend her whole day out with him. She grabbed her skateboard and darted down the stairs.

“Bye, Professor,” she called to the kitchen, where he was doing dishes.

“You tell him I'm watching! _Always_!”

Buttercup paused as she tugged on her sneakers.

“What?”

“Have a good time, sweetie!”

A rare, happy smile flashed across Buttercup's face, and had the Professor been looking, he would've melted.

“I will.”

The outside world was glowing with winter sunlight when she stepped out. The chill of winter was dim, just enough to be refreshing and not bone-shivering. She relished the feel of it on her cheeks as she took off in the direction of the Townsville Mall. Mitch had suggested they meet there as he still needed to get a gift for his dad, who he'd be seeing in a matter of days. He was leaving for Montana tomorrow. Today was their only day together.

Buttercup had gotten excited and said she could fly out to Montana, no trouble at all.

“I'd like to meet your dad,” she'd said, sheathed in her jacket that had once been Mitch's that had once been his dad's. Mitch had laughed, a little nervously.

“I'd... kinda like it to be me and him time,” he'd mumbled. After a second's thought, he'd hastily suggested, “But maybe I can ask him to visit next summer! I'd really... I'd really like him to meet you.”

There was something about the way he'd said it that had made Buttercup feel all warm and dizzy, and, after checking to make sure no one was watching, she'd curved her arms around his shoulders and blushed as she kissed him.

Even the memory of that made her blush now. Sure, they'd been dating for nearly three months, and nobody had been around, but Buttercup just wasn't an openly affectionate girl, even around their friends. She was only just now getting comfortable with holding hands in front of the boys.

She reached the mall, briefly sending up a prayer of gratitude for the gift of flight as she bypassed all the mall-goers trapped in parking lot gridlock. She touched down at the north entrance, where they'd agreed to meet. Now it was time to engage in the exciting activity of... waiting.

She held the skateboard against the back of her waist and paced the curb, pausing frequently to allow people to pass. Some of them grinned at her, some said, “Hello,” and some even (a lot of younger kids, mostly) looked a little frightened yet awed as they approached her. She acknowledged them in some form or another—a grunt here, a nod there. For the kids she permitted facial tics that could've been construed as smiles.

On one of her infinite cycles of pacing the curb, she found a dark-haired, freckled little girl of about two or three standing directly in her path staring up at her, and she stopped. After a second, her mouth twitched into a lopsided grin.

The girl just stared. After a second, Buttercup looked around. Where were her parents?

She looked back down and said, “Hey there.”

The girl continued to look up at her, a little reverence entering her expression. Or maybe it was fear. It was kind of hard to tell. Buttercup shifted.

“Um... where's your mom and dad?”

No response.

“They go into the mall?” Buttercup pointed. “There? Are they in there?”

The little girl shook her head.

Encouraged at having finally culled a response, Buttercup pointed at the parking lot.

“So they're out over here?”

The little girl shook her head again, and Buttercup slumped in defeat.

“You gotta be kiddin' me,” she muttered, and started to make for the entrance to talk to the Lost and Found folks. She halted, realizing the potential danger of leaving a child unattended, and turned back, taking the little girl by the hand. “C'mon.”

The little girl's feet scuttled across the concrete as she fought to keep up with Buttercup, who guiltily realized she was kinda dragging her along, and slowed her steps to match the little one's. Which meant, unfortunately, that they had to move painfully slow. People fanned out around them, and Buttercup watched covetously as people poured into the doors while they approached the mall's entrance at a snail's pace.

The little girl gripped her hand tightly, and Buttercup glanced down at her.

Something off in the distance caught Buttercup's attention, and she frowned, pausing and turning to scan the area. The dim, high-pitched drone of complicated working machinery—that's what it sounded like—

“ _Mwahahahahahahahahahahaaaa_!”

People suddenly began screaming and scattering as Mojo Jojo appeared in one of his outlandish contraptions, cresting the roof of the north entrance and laughing maniacally, as villains do. On cue, the mallgoers burst into screams.

“Shit!” Buttercup hissed. Naturally, the little girl who, prior to this, had evidently taken a vow of silence, decided to copy her.

“Shit!”

“Um,” Buttercup said, but then snatched the little girl up away from a wayward laser beam. “Somebody take this kid!” she cried; anybody would do, but it was absolute chaos and no one was paying attention to her, and Buttercup was _not_ going to risk ruining this jacket by fighting in it...

She bit back a swear and took off for a conveniently located copse near the mall, the chaos fading to dim background noise as she did so.

“Buh'ercup!” the little girl said, and the object of her exclamation looked at her.

“You know my name?”

“Shit!” the little girl said triumphantly, and Buttercup winced as they landed.

“Look, uh, you shouldn't say that word,” she reprimanded, setting her skateboard down and shrugging off her jacket. She located a band in the pocket and tugged her hair back into a ponytail. “Because if you do, then...” She paused, trying to come up with a good enough story, and then pointed back at the mall. “Then the crazy monkey will come and blow up your house and family and everything will die.”

The little girl stared up at Buttercup, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

Satisfied, Buttercup hung her jacket gingerly over a branch, and said, “Now, you stay here. I'll be right back.”

The girl toddled after her the second Buttercup stepped away. Buttercup shot her a look, and the girl stopped. Buttercup turned and took another step and heard the girl start up again.

“Oh, for God's sake,” she muttered, and tied the girl to the trunk of the tree with the jacket.

“Stay,” she commanded, and took off to join her sisters, who were engaging in the familiar pre-battle exchange.

“Powerpuff Girls! Youuu cannot defeat me and my Giant Robo Jojo, for I am undefeatable, and therefore cannot lose! Which is to say, if you were to fight me, as well as disregard the outcome of all our previous encounters, you would not win, for I—”

Buttercup plowed into him and sent him flying across the parking lot.

“Let's pick this up, Mojo!” Buttercup shouted. “I don't got all day!”

“Oh, how cute!” Bubbles latched onto her sister from behind. “Someone's all excited about her daaaaaaate.”

“ _Shut up_!”

“Girls! Stop goofing off!” Blossom ordered as the Robo Jojo rose again.

“ _I will defeat you and therefore keep you from winning_!” Mojo bellowed. In a flash, the Giant Robo Jojo was upon them, and its arms shot out, pinning the three of them to the ground.

“Augh! See? This is why you don't hug me! _Hugging me gets us in trouble_!” Buttercup snapped at her sister.

“But you're so soft and squishy and cute!” Bubbles whined. Blossom, in the meantime, had punched through the giant hand of Mojo's robot and was back at work. She bent back the fingers of the hand trapping Buttercup and Bubbles (Mojo yelped in pain, which they could only assume was for dramatic effect) and the three of them were back in the air.

Buttercup shot towards Mojo, whose arm had now produced an enormous gun, and eyebeamed it, the green lasers cutting through the metal and singeing off the weapon.

“Hey! I was looking forward to using that!” an offended Mojo shouted. Meanwhile, Bubbles and Blossom had taken their own eyebeams to the Robo Jojo's torso. They didn't split it in half, but did leave a burning, charred trail carved into the robot, and several sparks flew off of it.

The Robo Jojo swiped at them, and as Buttercup and Bubbles spun out of the way, Blossom took the chance to ice breath the shoulder joint of the robot, and Bubbles grabbed the arm, breaking it off easily now, like a toothpick.

“Noooooo! That is my arm!”

Buttercup snatched the arm out of her sister's hands and arced it back.

“ _Was_ your arm,” she corrected, and swung it like a bat into the Robo Jojo's face, sending it flying once more.

The Robo Jojo might have had a fighting chance if it had managed to retain that one limb. But the girls had been at this for years and had grown much more than Mojo had. Also, they were all busy teenagers and had better things to do.

Buttercup snatched the other arm and pulled it back as Blossom ice breathed the joint, and Bubbles slammed through it, shattering this one off, too.

The Robo Jojo kicked ineffectually at them, and two more snapped limbs later only the torso of Mojo Jojo's Giant Robo Jojo laid on the ground, its captain screaming at them.

“Curse you, Powerpuff Girls! I will have you know this does not count as a loss for me!”

Blossom crossed her arms as the three of them loomed over him, floating.

“Not a loss, Mojo? Your latest invention is lying on the ground with no arms or legs.”

“It's just a flesh wound!” Mojo claimed desperately, sparks jettisoning out of the limbless parts. Meanwhile, Buttercup had picked up a chunk of asphalt and now tossed it lightly at the glass dome encasing Mojo.

“Why, you—” Mojo cut off, taking note of the crackling glass around him. The debris had bounced squarely off of it but left a crack, which now spidered out across the entire rounded surface of the glass before shattering.

“Speaking of flesh wounds,” Buttercup sneered.

A few well-placed punches later, Mojo Jojo was groaning on a stretcher as it was wheeled into a police van.

“Nice work, girls,” Blossom said proudly, then looked around to find neither of her sisters nearby. She spun in place, searching, and found Bubbles in Will's arms and Buttercup flying off towards a small grove of trees.

“Hey! Listen to me when I talk to you!” she screeched.

Buttercup tuned her out and furrowed her brow as she navigated the trees—there weren't many, and she could've sworn she left it and the little girl here...

The more she searched the more she began to panic. She'd left them here! Where were they?!

_You lost them_ , a horrible little voice in her head said, and she was so shaken by the possibility that she had to respond out loud.

“No, I didn't,” she said, thinking about wayward lasers and singed leather and the _M_ on that jacket and the little girl's tiny hands. “The fight never even got close.”

_Somebody took them_.

Rage was bubbling up in her at the mere thought of someone, anyone having the _audacity_ , the sheer _stupidity—_

_She wasn't your fucking kid,_ she thought, and the rage subsided, just a bit, making room for despair to take its place. _And M, M could be anybody, nobody would think of you—_

“Looking for something?”

Buttercup twisted to find her scruffy, scraggly, warmly-bundled boyfriend standing behind her, his jacket (her jacket) hanging over an extended arm and a familiar little girl in tow.

Relief flooded her face, as well as her standard flush at the sight of him.

“Mitch! Hey! Thank God, I thought—”

The little girl broke into a grin and ran to hug Buttercup's leg, which inspired a grin of her own.

“Just... never mind what I thought.”

Mitch studied the little girl thoughtfully.

“Kid's got the right idea,” he concluded, and he unfolded the jacket and moved close to pull it around Buttercup's shoulders before wrapping his arms loosely around her for a hug. Buttercup tensed for a second, then relaxed. The little girl looked up.

“You're so pretty!” she said brightly, and Mitch laughed as Buttercup sputtered and blushed more.

“I totally agree,” he said, and Buttercup's eyes softened as she looked at him.

“Buttercup!” Bubbles suddenly called, jarring Buttercup out of her reverie and causing her to jump back, away from Mitch and the little girl.

“ _What_?!” she snapped at the blonde floating at the edge of the woods.

“News teams are here.”

“So? Let Blossom deal with 'em!”

“Paper's here, too. They want a picture.”

“For friggin' real? Jesus,” Buttercup muttered, then winced as she remembered her company. She chanced a glance down at the girl, who had a look on her face that suggested she'd learned some very cool words today and couldn't wait to try them out at home.

“Go fly ahead, I'll catch up,” Mitch urged. “I'll even watch the kid for you.”

“No, I got her,” Buttercup said, shrugging out of the jacket before picking up the little girl easily, one-handed. “But you can watch this for me. Keep an eye out for my skateboard, too—it's around here somewhere.”

She floated up to meet Bubbles, and then back to the site of Mojo's defeat, where the Giant Robo Jojo's torso still reclined, crackling faintly.

“Bethy!”

Buttercup looked up to find a woman running towards her, arms outstretched for her cargo.

“Thank you so much!” the woman cried, reaching to lift the little girl away. Buttercup instantly pulled back, and the woman looked a little shocked.

“Are you her mom?” she asked. The woman blinked.

“Yes! Yes, of course I am!”

Buttercup looked at the girl.

“Is this your mom?”

Even before she nodded Buttercup knew the answer. They shared the same dark hair and eyes, and the faint smattering of freckles across their cheeks. But she'd wanted to ask, just in case.

“Alright,” Buttercup said, drawing closer so the mom could take Bethy from her. Buttercup heard the telltale shutter of a camera going off, and she whipped her head around to find a cameraman catching the exchange.

“Hey! I told you guys to stay away from me!”

“Buttercup!” Blossom called.

“I'm coming!” Buttercup barked, then turned to wave reluctantly at Bethy as her mom carried her away. Bethy's eyes were wide as she watched Buttercup fade from sight, and she reached out a little arm and waggled it.

Buttercup floated over to the Robo Jojo, where her sisters were already perched on top of it. Blossom, her arm cocked on her hip, watched as Buttercup took her place flanking her leader's right, then turned and beamed heroically at the camera. On her other side, Bubbles tilted her head and giggled, a wide-mouthed grin lighting up her adorable face.

Buttercup had one of two expressions she used for photos like these: a smirk or a scowl. She thought again of Bethy and went with a smirk, since it was closer to a smile.

The cameramen crouched to get a better angle, and as Buttercup crossed her arms for the full effect, Mitch came up behind him, still cradling his jacket (her jacket) in his hands. He sneered at her and waved.

The smirk on Buttercup's face faded into a genuine smile at the last possible second before the flash went off, and when both photos appeared in the next day's paper people who were paying attention remarked at how soft Buttercup's eyes seemed.

***

Immediately after the photo, Blossom, as was her self-imposed duty, stayed to take questions from the press. Bubbles squealed and giggled at Will some more before the two of them took off. Buttercup took back the jacket but didn't put it on—it was a brisk winter day, but she was still warmed up from the fight—and she and Mitch strode away. The skate park wasn't far from here.

“So much for shopping for your dad, huh?” Buttercup said, glancing back at the mall. Part of the parking lot was totaled, and the part that wasn't was covered with news crews and a giant dead robot.

“We can do it later. Or, you know, I can do it when I get to Montana.” After a moment, he reached a hand for her hair and delved his fingers into it, loosening her ponytail. His fingertips brushed against her scalp as he did so, and she tensed, a little shiver skittering across her chest.

He held the little elastic band up in front of her, and she shyly took it. Her hair spilled down around her shoulders, ending just past her shoulder blades. Mitch combed his fingers through her hair, and she hoped he couldn't feel her trembling as he did so.

“Different shampoo?” he asked after a second.

“Conditioner,” she croaked, then cleared her throat. “Um, I used conditioner.”

“Your hair's really soft today.”

“You like it?”

“It's weird.”

She gaped at him. “Fuck you!”

“Good weird!” he laughed, clenching her hair in a fist so she couldn't pull away. “It's good weird. Just different. Fuck, you know...”

He colored at his ineloquent recovery, trying to hide his face with his skateboard, clenched in his other hand.

“Mitch, you are soooo smooth,” Buttercup said sarcastically, grinning.

“Look, what do you wanna do today?” he interjected abruptly. “Like, I said skate park and shopping, but we don't have to do that... that was just all I could think of. I don't know, do you wanna do a movie, or, uh...” He trailed off, unable to suggest anything else. “I don't know.”

She shrugged. “I'm cool with whatever.”

“Well, but I don't just wanna do, you know... 'whatever,'” Mitch said. “I won't see you for like, three weeks.”

Buttercup smirked. “You sayin' you're gonna miss me?”

Mitch wasn't looking at her. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

She grinned at him. “Aww, that's _adorable_.”

“Fuck you,” he groaned, his hand leaving her hair so he could shove at her. She laughed.

“Hey, well, we could always call Harry. Or the twins. You know those guys are always up on what's going on—”

“I don't wanna call 'em,” Mitch said, a little abruptly. “This is... this is my day with you. So... yeah.'

Buttercup looked at him, feeling light and glowy and deliriously happy.

He shot her an embarrassed, almost sullen glance, then reached his hand for her shoulder and pulled her close.

She'd just parted her lips when a car suddenly went zooming by them, and she snapped away, curling into herself a little and blushing furiously.

The hand of his that had drawn her towards him hovered in the air, and he stared at her.

“Sorry,” she whispered, then cleared her throat because she hadn't meant to whisper. “Sorry. I just... the public thing, it's weird. Um.”

She was staring at his shoes as they walked—the oldest pair of Chucks he owned; he'd been wearing them for so long she couldn't remember what their original color was. They angled away from her a little after she said that, and she bit her lip. Shit. She needed to get over this.

“It's okay,” he muttered, and then his Chucks drifted back, just slightly. “We could... I don't know, go somewhere more... private?” She looked up and gave him a skeptical look.

“Like where, exactly? Your place, with your Grandma glued to her chair in the living room? Or my place, with the Professor and his phasers set to 'Kill?'”

Mitch cringed. “Good point.”

“We're here, anyway.” The skate park was busy, but not terribly crowded, and Buttercup dropped her board to the ground, shrugged her jacket on, and stepped on the deck, grinning back at Mitch. She smirked at him. “Tag.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tag? We're playing tag? You haven't tagged me, you know.”

She darted a quick glance around to confirm no one was watching, then dipped forward, pecking him lightly on the lips.

“There,” she said, forcing another smirk through her blush as she turned and pushed away. She threw a quick glance back to watch him rapidly diminishing in size as her board carried her away from him down a roll-in ramp.

Within seconds she heard him rolling towards her, a litany of obscenities spilling out of his mouth. She pumped forward, dodged other skaters, and zigzagged across the repurposed landscape, up mini-ramps and banking along halfpipes before coming to an abrupt stop on a funbox. There was scattered applause and cheers. She wobbled her board around so she could sneer at Mitch.

“Mitch, you suck!” she called out as he barreled towards her, the wind whipping his scruffy hair all around his face. He flipped her the bird and changed direction, heading instead for a grind rail, where he ollied onto it and into a bluntslide.

She crossed her arms as the trick inspired a round of cheering, more than she'd received. Inwardly, though, she was overcome with elation and pride and a sudden swelling of—

“Watch it!” someone cried out, and she came to in time to see Mitch hit the funbox she was on way too fast.

“Holy fu—”

Mitch was thrown off his board and went crashing into her, cutting her off, and the two of them tumbled end over end before settling into an undignified heap. Both of them instantly held up an arm each to indicate they were okay. Nervous scattered laughter echoed around.

She heard Mitch groan as he propped himself up on his palms, pausing as he looked down at her. With him looming over her and her back pressed to the ground, Buttercup suddenly felt exceptionally vulnerable. She laughed nervously and slapped his arm as she started to sit up.

“Okay, move—”

He firmly grasped her shoulder and held her in place, and she halted, only her head lifted. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked at her, and she felt that swelling of emotion in her chest again, the one she'd gotten when he'd gone into the bluntslide.

He'd executed that trick perfectly, and she'd felt such a possessive pride, knowing that that was hers, that _he_ was _hers—_

She lifted her hand to touch his and slid it hesitantly along his forearm, following the faint rise and fall of the tense muscle. Mitch had never been built, or a hugely active athlete—really, he was kinda lanky and thin as far as guys went, and when he didn't keep up with cutting his hair he started to resemble Shaggy from Scooby-Doo—but for as active as Buttercup was, she'd never been into the jocks or the gym rats.

When she thought about it, though, save for a silly little five-year-old schoolgirl's crush that had barely counted, she'd never really been into much of anybody except Mitch.

She stared up at him, feeling a deep red warmth rising to her face and the sudden onset of a quickening heartbeat. He started to lean towards her. She gasped and snapped her hands to his chest, but didn't push him away.

“For Christ's sake, there are people here!” she hissed, face on fire.

“So?” he challenged, and she blinked. His hand shifted from her shoulder to the back of her head, fingers curling in those long dark tresses he loved so much (he'd told her so), and she was so dazed by his defiance that her brain only dimly registered the catcalls that would serve to fuel her anger and embarrassment later.

In this moment, though, with his mouth on hers and his fingers in her hair and his thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw, she closed her eyes and loved Mitch. She loved him more than anything else in the whole wide world.

***

They weren't at the skate park for long. There were a bunch of stupid, younger teenagers there, and they kept snickering and making kissy noises every time Buttercup went by. They left after she shattered a couple of their skateboards, but by then the fun was gone for her. She and Mitch went to go grab some hot chocolate.

She muscled her way out of her jacket again as they stepped into the heated coffeeshop, then took their place in line. The cashier grinned as they came up.

“What can I get for you guys?” she chirped.

“Hot chocolate,” Buttercup and Mitch said simultaneously.

“One or two?”

Buttercup and Mitch looked at each other.

After a second, Buttercup said, “I think one will do it. One large, to share.” The cashier grinned as she punched in their order.

“Sharing a hot chocolate on a cool winter day. How adorable!”

It suddenly became a very cool winter day indoors as Buttercup iced over, glaring at her. Mitch hastily paid and pulled his girlfriend away.

“What the hell is everyone's problem?” she groused. “Why are we any of their fucking business?”

“Dude, Buttercup, it's just... just people. Just relax.”

“Just give us our fucking drink!” she hissed under her breath, ignoring Mitch's attempt to console her. “You gotta deliver fucking _commentary_ on us when we're trying to fucking order?”

“Chill out,” Mitch urged. “It's not like they're attacking us. And really, the attention isn't that bad—”

“I don't want their fucking attention! I want a fucking _hot chocolate_!”

“Hot chocolate for the two young lovebirds!” the girl behind the counter called out. Mitch managed to drag Buttercup outside before she could commit mass homicide.

“This better be the best God damn hot chocolate I have ever had,” she swore under her breath, then scalded her tongue as she chugged it down. Mitch took it from her and sipped.

“It's not bad.”

“Mmph.”

He guided them to an outside table and wrapped his hands around the cup as they sat. Buttercup glared at the table's surface as the Chemical X slowly began to heal the burn on her tongue.

“Buttercup,” Mitch said, and she looked up. He was staring into the distance, off across the street somewhere. “Does it really bug you that much? People knowing that we're a couple?”

For a second she only looked at him, stunned that he could ask such a ridiculous question. She was crazy about him. She'd been crazy about him for the longest fucking time.

He shifted his gaze to meet her eyes, waiting. She just didn't think it was anybody's business. She didn't need people to know everything about her, about them. She didn't want to be open about stuff like this. This was private. This was important.

She sighed and, after a moment's thought, placed her hands over his around the cup.

“Mitch, no, it's just—”

“Holy crap, what the hell are you guys doing here?” Harry suddenly asked, and Buttercup snapped her hands away. Harry was standing at their table, holding a struggling boy of about ten by the hand.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” she asked.

“We're having a hot chocolate,” Mitch explained, his expression stony and his eyes on Buttercup's hands, clenched together on the table. “Duh.”

The boy was straining to pull Harry along.

“Come _on_ , Harry! Let's _go_!”

“Hey Stinky,” Buttercup said, and Stinky blushed and stopped struggling as he caught sight of Buttercup.

“Hello,” he mumbled.

“This little snotrag wants a hot drink,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “The 'rents got me babysitting him for the day. Me and the twins took him out to RDKade to try out the new racing cabinets they just got.” Buttercup lit up.

“They got _new_ stuff? Are you kidding me? They haven't gotten a new game in years! I thought the place was going to go under!” She looked at Mitch. “We gotta go try those things out!”

Mitch's expression did not match hers, not by a long shot.

“I don't—really, Buttercup? I don't know if I feel—”

“Oh, come on, Mitch, you love racing games,” Buttercup said, already rising out of her chair. Their loud conversation was causing a ruckus and attracting all the other patrons' attentions. Many of them already looked uncomfortable at the presence of loud, semi-rowdy teenagers. It was familiar territory for Buttercup; almost a relief. It was all she could do to keep from sneering at them.

_I'll give you fucking lovebirds_ , she thought to herself. She grabbed Mitch by the arm to drag him up.

“Harry, go get your brother his hot chocolate. Mitch and I will go meet the twins and see you there.”

***

“Ha!” Buttercup clapped her hands and whooped in triumph at having schooled Mitch yet again. “Baby, I got this _down_.”

“You conquered that thing in just an hour,” Floyd said, impressed.

“Because I am just that good,” Buttercup said, spinning the wheel. “You know, the trick is to use your gear shift. Most people don't even bother with that on racing games.”

“Hey, Buttercup,” Mitch said, climbing out of his seat. “I think I'm done.”

“Alright, so who's next? I need some fresh meat!”

He leaned over the back of her chair.

“No, I mean, _I'm done_ , as in... as in let's go do something else,” he said in an undertone to her.

“Just one more, okay?” she asked, letting her voice go all sweet. Mitch pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed, stepping back.

“Fine. I'm going to go find a fighting game or something.” After a pause, he said, “Harry, come on. Fight me.”

“You guys better keep an eye on Stinky,” Harry threatened the twins before he left.

“Stinky's fine,” Buttercup called as Stinky clambered into the challenger's seat. “He's with me.”

Five races later she did not feel the same way.

“ _How are you beating me_?!” she cried, as _Victory_! flashed on Stinky's screen for the fifth time.

“Kids these days,” Lloyd muttered to Floyd. “They're all fucking wizards at this stuff by the time they're five.” Mitch and Harry reappeared then.

“Who's winning?” Harry asked.

“Me!” Stinky said proudly, and Buttercup held out her hand to Mitch.

“Got any spare quarters?” she asked.

“Fresh out,” he said bluntly. “Are you done? Let's go.”

“Nonono, I gotta beat this kid at least _once_ ,” she said, clambering out of the seat and pushing past him for the change machine. “Save my seat! I want a rematch!”

“ _Buttercup_!” Mitch hissed as he tailed her. “You said only one more like half an hour ago!”

“You didn't come back after one more, did you?” Buttercup said, digging in her pocket for some bills.

“I was trying to be nice! Look, I'm done, can we just go? The kid's going to be here all winter break; you can beat him some other time—”

The machine spit out her change and she turned, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“One more. I promise. I just want to beat him, and I can do it in one more.”

He glared at his watch.

“You know it's almost fucking four o'clock.”

“It won't take five minutes!” she called back. She was already heading back to her seat. Mitch let out an irritated sigh, then slowly padded over and sat at an adjacent racing game, watching and waiting for that one more race to end.

***

“What time is it?” Buttercup asked as she stood. Harry glanced at his cell phone.

“Quarter to five.”

“Holy shit, I'm sorry that took so long, Mitch,” Buttercup said, then looked around. “Mitch?”

The guys followed suit. “Mitch?”

“That's weird,” Lloyd said.

“I don't remember him leaving,” Floyd said.

“I'll check the bathroom,” Harry said.

“Ha!” Stinky cheered as he joined them. “Baby, I got this down!”

“Don't get too full of yourself,” Buttercup warned. “I'm going to beat you at some point this winter break. Mark my words.”

“Let me go check the fighting games,” Floyd said.

Harry reappeared. “Nothing.”

“No Mitch!” Floyd called.

Buttercup furrowed her brow and tugged out her phone. No calls. No texts. She scrolled to Mitch's number and called him. It dumped her into his voicemail.

“Hey, Mitch, it's Buttercup,” she said. “Just... wondering where you are. Give me a call.”

She flipped her phone shut, then flipped it back open to send a text, just in case.

“Want us to help look for him?” Harry asked.

“No, it's cool.” She shook her head. “I'll track him down.”

The guys said their goodbyes as she left, stepping back out into the crisp winter air. The day was dimming rapidly, and she shifted her board from one hand to the other, unsure where to start. He hadn't said where he was going, had he? Had she missed something?

She took off and tried to do a search from the air, but within five minutes that proved to be impossible. She decided to drop her board off at home first—she was getting sick of carrying it around—and after dumping it on the doorstep she went off to search their usual hangouts: the skate park, an ice cream shop, a burger joint, another arcade on the other side of town. In between every other stop she tried to call him again. Every time she got his voicemail.

_Where the f r u_? she texted after she found the discount theater Mitch-less.

Her stomach suddenly rumbled, and it hit her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. She went back to their favorite burger joint, just in case Mitch was there now (he wasn't), grabbed a double double with cheese, and wolfed it down on her way to his place.

Even before landing in the trailer park she knew he wasn't there. The lights in his room were all dim. She let herself in anyway.

“Hey Grandma Mitchelson,” she greeted the woman growing into the armchair. The glow of the television bounced off her skin. She may have grunted as Buttercup floated by, but otherwise didn't acknowledge she was there. Mitch's mom was probably at work.

Buttercup knocked on Mitch's door, and after five seconds of no response, entered.

Empty.

She flipped on the light and stuffed her hands into the pockets of the bomber jacket, rubbing at old receipts and hair ties as she floated to the edge of the bed and sat. It was getting colder now that night had fallen, and Mitch's place tended to feel the weather. She curled into herself a bit, letting her eyes drift around the familiar surroundings.

There was a duffel bag on the floor, half full. She stared at it for awhile, then got up and walked around. She kicked aside broken CD cases, half-buried in the carpet, blew the dust off of his bookshelf, flipped through a guitar magazine. She found Cameron's—the former lead guitarist for No Neck Joe—college contact info on Mitch's desk. Shoot, that reminded her. Once Mitch got back from break they'd have to start looking for a new lead guitarist. Floyd was all right, but even he himself recognized he wasn't at the level he needed to be to take the lead.

Mitch's camera was also on his desk—weird, he hadn't brought it today. He always brought his camera. He was always taking pictures of her when they were out.

_I should've noticed that_ , she thought, then powered it on and held it at arm's length to snap a self-photo. It took her five tries to angle it just right; she deleted the rejects and left the last good one on as a surprise for him when he got to Montana.

As she set the camera down and picked up the P-Bass—the very bass she'd selected and bought for his birthday—she started to grow a little irritated. He was leaving tomorrow morning, early. Like six am early. She was going to try and meet him at the airport early to send him off, but they'd been planning on spending the whole day today together...

She lazily plucked out a bass line, feeling slightly guilty about the arcade.

_But he didn't tell me where he was going. He hasn't been picking up my calls, or responding to my texts. I'm sure one of the guys would call me if they ran into him._

She furrowed her brow and set his bass down. The thought was in her brain before she could stop it.

_Unless he's being held hostage._

Buttercup zipped back into the living room and made a beeline for the front door, flinging it open.

_No. Who would take him_? Surely if that had happened, they would've sent a stupid note, or made one of those stupid “I have something you want” phone calls to either her or her sisters. He'd been missing for—she glanced at her cell phone—two hours now. Had he been kidnapped, they'd have heard by now. Townsville's villains may not have been entirely effective over the years, but when it came to summoning the girls' attentions, they were remarkably efficient.

The sky was tinged purple now; she could see the moon.

_Where are you_?

She sat on the rickety metal steps leading to his front door and waited.

***

Buttercup hastily stood as the familiar _pock-pock_ sound of Mitch’s skateboard wheeled towards her. She heard him pause as he caught sight of her, kicking up his board and coming to a stop.

“Hey,” she said, eyes adjusting, picking up his outline in the gathering dark. He just stood there.

“Hey.”

Some receipts fell out of her jacket pocket as she pulled her hand out; she bent to pick them up and stuffed them back before pushing her hair out of her face.

“We were... I was kinda wondering what the hell happened to you.”

He held up a bag she hadn't noticed.

“Went shopping for my dad.”

Anger flared in her, but she tried to ignore it.

“I wish you'd told me.”

“You wanted to play that stupid game,” he muttered, and now that anger was impossible to ignore.

She exploded, “You still could've told me! I would've stopped! If you'd said, 'Buttercup, let's go shopping for my dad,' I would've wrapped it up and left with you!”

“I said, 'Let's go do something else,' didn't I?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just 'cause I didn't give you a good enough reason to leave, that's why you wanted to stay?” He looked like he was about to throw the package in his hands. “I'm your boyfriend, and it's my last day before I fly out of here for almost a month! Isn't that a good enough reason, Buttercup?!”

“Of course it is! But you said yourself you didn't know what to do—”

“I also said I didn't want to spend it with the guys! I wanted to spend it all with _you_!”

Buttercup felt a stab of guilt amidst all that anger, but that was no excuse. He should've told her, he still should've told her...

“You know, Buttercup, that's the thing! Every time we go out, just the two of us, you never want to act like I'm your boyfriend! You still treat me like I'm 'one of the guys.' You don't let me hold your hand, or touch you, or kiss you—you know, all that shit that actual couples do—”

“You don't have to _do_ those things!” she shouted.

“I don't do them because I _have_ to, I do them because _I want to_!” he shouted back, and it was supposed to be sweet, that was supposed to be a sweet revelation, but both of them were too angry to acknowledge it. “Even around the guys, even around Harry and the twins, you never act like we're going out!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Coffeeshop! Perfect example! Your hands are holding mine, and the second Harry appears you pull them away. And even after seeing it's _Harry_ , who _knows_ we're dating and doesn't call us out on it like that lady you got so worked up over, do you settle down and put them back? No! You keep them to yourself! Like you can't stand being seen with me!”

Her eyes were wide with shock and horror. He couldn't mean that! Did he have any idea? Did he have any fucking idea?!

“I wasn't—I wasn't even thinking about that! How can you even say that?! I can't stand being seen with you, that's the biggest load of—”

“And then at the arcade, everybody heard me saying, 'Buttercup, let's go,' _me_ , your _boyfriend_ , and you totally blow me off so you can play that dumb game and hang out with everyone else—”

“They're our _friends_ , Mitch, for Christ's sake—”

“You're going to be seeing them the whole God damn winter break!” he yelled. “You can hang out and flirt with them all you like then—”

“ _WHAT_?! _Are you fucking_ kidding _me_?!”

“You heard me,” he snapped.

“Since when do I flirt with them?!” she demanded, wanting to punch something, wanting to hit something. “Since when have I ever treated anybody the way I treat you?!”

“ _I don't know_! You don't treat me _any fucking different_! You just treat us all the same, like you wanna keep your options open—”

She grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and wanted to fling him somewhere, make him _shut up_.

“ _How can you say that to me_?!”

“ _Because all of them are fucking crazy about you_!” he exploded, and she released his collar, gaping. Panic began to well up in her as his words echoed in her head, numbing her senses.

“Wh-what?”

“You can't honestly tell me you never noticed,” Mitch said, and she shook her head.

“No, you can't... you can't be serious!” They liked her? They _liked her_?! No, they were her friends, they wouldn't do that, Mitch couldn't be serious—

She was almost shaking from the revelation. They liked her. As in, the way Mitch liked her. And Mitch was one thing, she'd always liked Mitch, they'd always liked each other, and the boys had just been friends; she liked them too but not that way...

_They just see me as another girl_. How could anyone like her? She went so out of her way to not be a girl! Didn't they get that? They had no idea who she was, oh God, they'd never had any idea, they were only friends with her because they wanted her as a _girlfriend_!

The anger had faded from Mitch's face at her silent, shocked reaction, and he reached a hand for her.

“Buttercup?”

She slapped it away, her expression instantly hardening.

“How could you tell me that?”

Mitch stared at her.

“Why would you... _fucking_ say that to me?!” she shrieked, that panic coursing through her, spilling out in words, fuck, Mitch was an idiot, they all were!

“What, that they liked you? Like it's not an open secret—”

“Why would you tell me that?” Years of friendship, years of nights out and skating and bad movies, everything, down the God damn fucking drain. She couldn't think straight, could only see images flashing in her head, one after the other in some blinding, horrific slideshow. Every laugh and open-mouthed grin the boys had ever given her was a mask hiding a face that had only wanted to kiss her.

She thought the guys understood, but nobody got her. Nobody ever did.

Something else Mitch had said emerged out of the chaos of thoughts and images in her brain, and she glared at him.

“And you think I want to 'keep my options open?'” she snarled at that idiot, that _fucking idiot_. Mitch had no idea. She could still feel those years upon years of friendship unfolding into something more within her, something that had ached when he wasn't near, had swelled at the sound of his voice, had wanted every moment they'd spent together to just never end.

There'd never been any other option for her. There'd only ever been Mitch, Mitch, Mitch.

He didn't get her either. And he had been her best friend.

Mitch steeled his shoulders.

“What am I supposed to think, when every time we go out you hardly act like my girlfriend?”

The stupid fuck. That made her want to break his stupid fucking face.

“Fuck you, Mitch,” she snarled. “Fuck you, and fuck this. Stay in Montana, for all I fucking care.”

The next second the wind was screaming around her, and she flew as fast as she could as she hurtled home, trying to drown out the voices in her head that begged her not to leave him, not to do this, please, _don't do this_.

***

“So... you know, it wasn't bad for a first try,” Bubbles consoled Blossom in their smoldering kitchen.

Blossom pouted and looked guiltily at the stove.

Bubbles swatted out the remains of a small fire with a dish towel as she continued, “You're good at so many other things, Blossom! You don't have to be good at everything.”

“Maybe spaghetti just isn't my thing,” Blossom said hopefully.

Bubbles bit her tongue to keep from saying, _Maybe cooking just isn't your thing_. Bubbles loved her sister, but she had to discourage her from doing this or somebody was bound to get hurt further on down the road. Blossom in a kitchen could do more property damage than a monster fight in downtown Townsville these days.

“We've got some leftovers,” Bubbles said encouragingly. “We'll just leave that for the Professor when he comes back.”

Suddenly the door flew open, the green streak that shot through it flying fast enough to send papers flying everywhere and unstraighten paintings on the wall.

“ _Buttercup_!” Blossom yelled crossly as her hair whipped around her face in a mess of tangles.

“Buttercup?” Bubbles said, a little gentler as she floated to the base of the stairs. “What's wrong?”

Their door slammed shut.

***

Buttercup could feel only a numbing, aching rage. She flung her jacket (his jacket, _his_ fucking jacket) off and staggered to the vanity. She pushed aside all her sisters' bottles of nail polish and makeup, dimly hearing some of it clattering to the floor as she bent over, resting her elbows on the vanity and burying her face in her hands. Her hair curtained around her, the long strands curling and pooling along the wooden surface, and she liked that for a second, the way it hid her face, hid her from the world.

Then she remembered that she hated it long, that it was high maintenance and unmanageable at this length, and that she'd only ever grown it out like this for Mitch...

She suddenly recalled the feel of his hands running through her hair, how happy she'd feel as he'd stroke her hair back and then curl his fingers in it, smirking as he'd pull her in for a kiss—

She glared at her reflection, then caught sight of a pair of scissors.

Something inside her wanted to make it hurt just as much on the outside, so she pulled her hair away from her head as hard as she could, relishing that brief, sharp tingling in her scalp before the scissors closed and a handful of hair fell away. She snipped at the hair all around her neck, not caring about the angle or making it even, she just wanted it off, she just wanted it gone.

Her cell phone rumbled in her pocket as she let the scissors drop from her hand to the carpet, and she tugged it out. A text.

_Did we just break—_

She was typing her response before she even finished reading.

_Yes_

She tossed her cell onto the vanity and stared at it as it went to its screensaver. Her legs felt weak all of a sudden, and the world felt heavy, so fucking heavy, and she shook as she sat back down, staring numbly at her cell.

There was a knock on the door, then, both her sisters' voices, questioning.

“Buttercup?”

She didn't want to answer them. They opened the door.

“Buttercup, what's going on?” Blossom asked, her eyes widening at the sight of Buttercup's hair.

“We broke up,” Buttercup croaked stiffly, and after a second she lifted her head so her sisters could see that she wasn't crying, not one bit.

***

Bubbles rustled with something on the floor, carrying it to over the closet while Blossom unfurled a towel and wrapped it around Buttercup's neck like a backwards cape.

“Can't trust either of you with scissors, honestly,” she said softly as she brushed Buttercup's uneven hair. “Having been a victim myself, I'd know.”

Buttercup's cell phone vibrated again, once. A text. Blossom paused as she picked up the scissors.

“Do you want to get that?”

“No,” Buttercup said abruptly.

“Three days,” Bubbles said as she re-emerged from the closet. Buttercup gave her a look; her sister had said that with a very significant tone and expression.

“What's so special about three days?”

Bubbles knelt at her sister's side and crooked an arm over her lap.

“Three days to get over the crying.”

“Do I look like I'm fucking crying?” Buttercup snapped. Her cell phone vibrated again, and she glared at it.

“Language,” Blossom reprimanded, though it was more out of habit than anything else. “Hold your head still, Buttercup.”

“There's more,” Bubbles said sagely as Blossom snipped the scissors around Buttercup's head. “Three days of waiting on you, doing whatever you want—”

“Within legal reason,” Blossom interjected.

“Three days where what you need emotionally is our first priority,” Bubbles finished. Buttercup rolled her eyes.

“This from the relationship expert,” she muttered.

“I wouldn't call myself an expert,” Bubbles said as she stood again. Blossom snipped away. “But I have gone through a few breakups. And it's not like _you'll_ mind ordering us around for three days, anyway.”

Buttercup's cell vibrated again, catching Bubbles' attention, and she reached for it. Buttercup snatched it before her sister could get it, and snapped the phone in half.

“Buttercup! Careful!” Blossom cried; the scissors had scraped along Buttercup's neck and one of the tips was now bent at an angle. Buttercup tossed the remnants of her phone back onto the vanity.

“Sorry.”

Blossom sighed as she tried the scissors; they wouldn't close now.

“Well, luckily I finished just before you jerked your head,” she said, brushing loose hair clippings onto the towel, then undoing it. “There. What do you think?”

Buttercup studied her reflection, feeling an odd emptiness in her chest.

“Better. Better than it was five minutes ago. Better than it was an hour ago, even.”

“I liked it long,” Bubbles said helpfully. “Your hair was beautiful long.”

Buttercup didn't respond. She only ran her hands through her now-short hair, scrutinizing her reflection. Bubbles fidgeted at her side.

“Sooo... what do you want to do?”

“Would you like us to give you a moment?” Blossom asked.

Buttercup braced her arms against her knees as she stood, staring at the surface of the vanity she'd stood at just this morning. Then she turned to her sisters with a sinister smile on her face.

“Did I hear right?” she sneered, and her sisters pulled back a little. That was not the face of a girl who'd just suffered tremendous heartbreak. “Three days of doing whatever I want?”

***

Bubbles was cowering on the couch already with Octi while Blossom set up the TV. Buttercup blended the last milkshake (she decided not to ask about the burnt hair smell in the kitchen) and carried them all out to the living room.

“Aw, Bubbles, stop whimpering,” she chastised, handing her a glass. “It's not even that scary.”

“I should've made rules,” Bubbles mumbled, burrowing into the cushions and crushing Octi to her chest. “I should've said, 'Nothing scary and evil that is going to make me totally unable to sleep at night.' I'm going to be crawling into your bed to sleep with you after this.”

“As a recent victim of a terrible breakup, it would satisfy me much more emotionally if you were to crawl into bed with Blossom,” Buttercup said soothingly, and Bubbles glared at her.

“Bubbles, it won't be that bad,” Blossom said, floating back to the couch and claiming her shake. “It's just a movie.”

“Yeah, look,” Buttercup said, thrusting the DVD case in Bubbles' face. “The ghost on the box isn't _that_ scary—”

“Don't show me that!” Bubbles said in a shrill voice, hiding her face behind Octi.

“This is in Japanese?” Blossom asked, taking the box from Buttercup and examining it (she recoiled a little at the image on the cover).

“Yep,” Buttercup said, grabbing Bubbles' arm and trying to get her up. “Come on, sit with me on the floor—”

“ _Noooooooo_!” Bubbles squealed, resisting.

“Buttercup, let her stay on the couch,” Blossom scolded. “Yeah, you went through a breakup, but this is being unnecessarily cruel. She agreed to watch this with you, and you _know_ she hates this stuff. You want _me_ to sit with you on the floor?”

“Nooo,” Bubbles whined, clutching at Blossom. “Don't leave me alone in the back!”

In the end, they all sat on the couch. Buttercup was less interested in the movie than she was in seeing her sisters squirm, and she nursed her milkshake as she watched them, grinning to herself. Bubbles screamed at every cut, even during the non-scary parts, just in anticipation of the possibility of seeing something horrifying. Blossom started off with a resolute, determined look on her face, obviously giving herself an internal pep talk about how this was all just a movie and it wasn't real. That face gradually broke down as the movie wore on, and Buttercup watched surreptitiously as their fearless leader chewed her lip and tried to suffocate a cushion into her chest.

“Why does she stay in that house?” Blossom moaned. “I would leave! If something like that happened, like, more than once, I'd pack it up and go, seriously. I'd even torch the place on the way out.”

“You mean you'd try to cook something before you left?” Buttercup said dryly, and Blossom glowered at her. “Anyway, shh. You're always talking during movies, trying to inject reality into them. It's kinda annoying.”

Bubbles just made wounded puppy noises. She'd moved from the corner of the couch to Buttercup's side, and was now curled up against her sister. Buttercup let her cling; she even patted her hair every time something scary happened.

“See, it wasn't that bad,” Buttercup said when the credits started to roll. Blossom shuddered, clearly disagreeing.

“Creepy ending,” she said, still hugging her cushion.

“I haaaaate youuuuu,” Bubbles practically sobbed, hitting Buttercup with Octi. “I can't believe you made me watch that! You suck! I'm going to need, like, seventy jillion lights on at night just to get to sleep now!”

Buttercup only smirked as her sister smacked her with Octi a few more times before settling back down. She turned the DVD player off and then surfed through the channels, finally settling on a sleazy reality show station (“Oh, come _on_ , Buttercup,” Blossom groaned).

They watched it anyway, a whole three hours' worth of trashy TV. By the end of the three hours, Bubbles and Blossom had fallen asleep. It was one in the morning; they weren't as used to staying up late as Buttercup was.

Buttercup gingerly lifted Bubbles' head off her shoulder and settled her on the couch, covering her with a nearby throw. She took the empty milkshake glasses back to the kitchen, rinsing them out and then setting them in the dishwasher. She flipped off light switches (but left a lamp on in the living room, just in case Bubbles woke up and freaked out) and reclaimed her horror movie to return to her shelf upstairs. On the way up she re-straightened the paintings and pictures that hung crooked on the wall.

Upstairs she picked up all the makeup she'd shoved onto the floor and settled it back on the vanity. Long tendrils of her hair still curled on the carpet; she picked it all up to throw away and then used a mini-vac to suck up the remaining hair, plus some powder that had spilled out of one of the makeup boxes. She ignored her broken cell, still sitting on the vanity.

After a moment spent standing uneasily in their room, she went and had a quick shower. Without her sisters awake, it was harder to distract herself. She moved fast, because when she took her time her mind started to wander. Five minutes after she stepped into the bathroom, she was dressed and ready for bed. Except mentally.

She stood at one of the windows and stared out into the night for a bit. _This would be a great time for a distraction_ , she thought. In their younger days, they could count on Mojo attempting a breakout. That wasn't so likely anymore, especially not on the same day. They could also count on frequent monster attacks back then, but with the citywide security system the Professor had been developing over the years those barely occurred once a month, now.

She wondered if Mitch was up packing.

She glanced at the clock. In another four hours or so he'd be at the airport, waiting for his flight. She'd been planning to go see him off. She wasn't so sure she'd be doing that now.

A dull ache built in her chest, and she stared at her broken cell phone, briefly wondering what he had texted her.

The front door eased open. She tensed at first, then relaxed as she recognized the Professor's step, light as he tried to avoid waking up anyone in the house with superhearing. She heard him pause in the living room, then the quiet creak of the stairs as he made his way to the second story.

She turned her back to the window and waited, facing the door. Sure enough, he paused by their room to peek in, blinking in surprise when he saw Buttercup awake. She smiled.

“Hey, Professor.”

“Hey,” he whispered. “You're still up?”

She nodded.

“I'm sorry I'm home so late. I left a message on Blossom's cell around nine.”

“Oh. We were watching a movie.”

“I just didn't want you waiting up for me.”

She shook her head.

“We were fine, Professor.”

He smiled.

“Get to bed, then. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

He disappeared, making his way to his room. Had he seen? If he had, he would've mentioned something. She'd kept her hair long for ages. And her face. Did it show in her face? It must not have. He hadn't said anything. He hadn't noticed.

_I must be less affected by this than I thought_. After all, all she felt was that dull ache, which was now gradually numbing. Was this how breakups were supposed to feel? If she'd been the type of person who was comfortable with discussing feelings, she would've asked Bubbles.

She stood with her back to the window for a long time, her eyes trained on her silhouette stretching along the carpet. She could hear the Professor rustling about in his room. A few minutes after she heard him step out of the shower, she floated out into the hall, towards his bedroom. He was probably dressed at this point, but she knocked lightly anyway.

“Professor?”

“Buttercup? I thought you were going to bed.”

She swung the door open and stepped in; he was toweling his hair off in his pajamas. He paused.

“Gosh, my eyes must've been tired earlier. You cut your hair?”

She nodded. “I mean, Blossom did.”

“It looks nice.”

“I like it this way.” She glanced at his dresser, spotted his college ring, and picked it up to examine it.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, hanging his towel over the back of a chair. His brow was knit in genuine concern now.

She thought for a minute, then finally said, “Can't sleep, but...” She trailed off, unsure of how to continue, and just kept rolling the ring about in her hands.

The Professor gave her some time, then asked, “But what?”

_I don't know_ , she thought, and for some reason that made her really sad, sadder than the act of breaking up. He was still a bit away, maybe a total of six feet, tops, so she wasn't sure how much he could see of her face. For that matter, she still wasn't sure how much her face was showing.

“I don't know,” she said softly. She ran her eyes along every facet of the ring, then placed it back on the dresser. “Me and Mitch broke up.”

Her eyes did not trail back to him, so she couldn't tell how he took the news—whether it made him relieved, or happy, or overjoyed. She only stared at his ring and the polished wood it rested on. She hadn't even been thinking of saying it, at least not like that, so unceremoniously, so nothing, like she was only telling him what she'd eaten for lunch.

She was still only numb, instead of explosive. Why wasn't she being more emotional about this?

“Oh, Buttercup.” The Professor was genuinely apologetic, concerned. “I'm sorry. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

She turned her attention to him and gave it a second more, reflecting on the lack of stinging behind her eyes, in her heart, the lack of anger and hurt feelings. There was nothing.

“You know... yeah,” she said, a little incredulously. “That's the weird thing, but... I guess it's a good weird thing.”

_No it isn't_.

“I mean, I was angry earlier, but I really feel okay now.”

_No you don't_.

“I feel... fine.”

_No you don't. This isn't okay, this isn't_ fine, _you were in love with him for years, you should not be fine, this is not okay, you are not okay, Buttercup, you are not fucking FINE—_

“I'm fine,” she said quietly, looking the Professor in the eye, and then she felt it: the sudden, hot welling of tears, the tightening in her throat, the insufferable weight of a heart heavy with grief. It was like the worst sort of ambush attack, every sense was numb with pain, with an ache she'd never, ever felt before, not in any fight, not ever.

The Professor saw it, and he closed that distance faster than she could fly (she'd never flown that fast, never), and swept his arms around her, hugging her tight as her world caved in on itself.

_I am not fine_.

She was sobbing into his chest, she couldn't remember not sobbing into his chest, she only felt grief, she could only remember feeling grief. Every memory of Mitch that flashed across her mind was like a knife in her chest; she couldn't stand on her own, and it was a miracle her father was there to hold her up.

The Professor was shushing her, stroking her hair (Mitch liked to do that, and that recollection only made her sob harder) as he swayed them back and forth, and she let him.

“He thought I didn't love him,” she gasped, hiccuping over her words (fuck, why was she crying like this, fuck fuck fuck). “He said I didn't, I didn't treat him like a boyfriend, that I never wanted to, to, to hold his hand, that I was all, that I wanted to keep my options open, but I didn't, I didn't, I loved him, I loved him ever since we were kids, I loved him—”

It was horrible, how crying could do this to you, how it could take over every sense and part of your body. Buttercup felt completely lost, completely out of control. She couldn't get enough air or enough strength to stand or cry enough, she couldn't cry enough, she couldn't stop crying—

“He had no idea,” she sobbed, thinking of being ten and in love with him, of being thirteen and in love with him, of just being in love with him forever and ever and never wanting anything else, anyone else but him. How had he not noticed? How could he not have known?

_You don't let anything show_. Mitch, her sisters, the Professor. Nobody would know if she didn't let them see. But right now it didn't matter, she didn't care, she couldn't give a flying fuck if it was her fault.

“He had no idea!” she sobbed again, practically screaming into the Professor's chest. He held her tight, stroking her hair over and over again, like Mitch except not, Mitch who she'd broken up with (S _tupid stupid STUPID_ ), who she'd loved more than anything ( _You should've left the arcade, you should've_ ), who had let her wear his t-shirt and given her his jacket and kissed her in the skate park, he was leaving tomorrow for three weeks, three weeks that felt more like an eternity, and in a way it was, breakups were an eternity. Christ, this sorrow felt like it would never end.

“He had no idea how much I loved him,” she cried, over and over again as her sisters slept on downstairs and her father desperately tried to squeeze those endless tears away. “He had no idea! I loved him, Professor, I loved him so much!”

_-end Ch. 7a-_


	10. With the Girl at the Rock Show, or I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: Thanks to mathkid and Juxtaposie for knowing when to leave me to my own devices and when to call me out on my bullshit.

**More Than Human, Pt. 2 – Senior Fall Semester  
August – With the Girl at the Rock Show,** or **I Was A Heavy Heart to Carry**  
 _-sbj-_

“Yes, we'd definitely be interested!” Blossom floated around the kitchen in an endless circle, the excitement on her face apparent. Buttercup, seated at the kitchen table, flicked her eyes to her sister, then back to her new cookbook.

“What date were you looking at again?” Blossom paused in front of the fridge and located a scrap of paper. “Hold on, I need to find a pen... okay, go ahead. The twentieth... Thursday?” She glanced at Buttercup. “We do have school... but it wouldn't be difficult to make up the day we'd miss. I mean, we have to do that anyway when the city is attacked. What publication did you say this was for? Okay. And your contact number?” She repeated the ten digits to herself as she jotted them down. “Got it. All right! Well, I'll check with my sisters and our father and give you a call back tomorrow. Mm-hmm. Yes. Sure. Thanks again!”

Blossom hung up the phone and turned to Buttercup, beaming. “Modern Girl wants to do a piece on us!”

“I gathered,” Buttercup said disinterestedly. “What the hell is Modern Girl?”

“An adolescent women's magazine. Commonly known as MG, actually. They want to interview us for their November issue, complete with a photo spread and everything! The article will be about ordinary girls doing extraordinary things—I mean, obviously we have superpowers, but besides that part we can certainly serve as role models for girls without superpowers—”

“ _Bored now_ ,” Buttercup announced, and Blossom made a face. “I asked one question, not twenty.”

“Well, _I'm_ going to call the Professor to let him know what's going on and to make sure he's okay with it, then I've got to go get my youth team ready for their show. Why don't you call Bubbles and tell her the good news?”

“She's supposed to be back in, like, half an hour.”

Blossom crossed her arms and said dryly, “She's on a _date_. You really expect her to be home in time for dinner?”

“When I tell her what I'm making, she will be,” Buttercup said, already tugging out her phone. She glanced out at the sunny world beyond their kitchen window, simmering in the August heat. “It looks like it's a million degrees outside. I wonder what they're up to?”

***

Boomer's knees were bumping into Bubbles' as they sat on the tire swing, legs dangling through the hole in the middle. It made him nervous and excited and uncomfortable, so he tried to edge his knees away from hers as much as possible.

They'd taken refuge from the heat in the park playground and the tire swing was the only thing completely shaded by the surrounding trees. Shade could only do so much, though; they'd also snagged a couple of cones from the ice cream man that had driven by. Now Boomer's was rapidly melting as he watched Bubbles eat hers.

Boomer had always bitten ice cream, so he'd never understood where this whole licking ice cream thing came from. It just seemed a waste of time—your ice cream melted faster, and you couldn't really taste it because your tongue would get all numb from the cold.

It occurred to him now as he watched Bubbles lick hers that really, the whole licking ice cream thing was less for one's own benefit and more for the benefit of anybody watching.

He swallowed as Bubbles innocently consumed her chocolate ice cream in the most excruciating manner possible, until she noticed his own cone was dripping a vanilla storm.

“You're losing all your ice cream,” she pointed out, and he glanced at it.

“Oh.” He didn't care, not really, but bit into it anyway. He'd waited too long; now it had softened to the point where once the slightest pressure was applied, the whole scoop instantly threatened to slide off the cone entirely. He was already at the point where he was fine with losing it, so it came as a real shock when Bubbles saved it for him.

_Oh my God_.

Bubbles had saved it for him by leaning forward and, um, kind of stopping it with her mouth, so now they were leaning towards each other, both their mouths on Boomer's rapidly deteriorating ice cream, and Boomer's knees were bumping into hers and he felt nervous and excited and uncomfortable, and it was all a little too much, so he pulled away. Bubbles did, too, and cocked her head.

“Not hungry?”

“Different type of hungry,” Boomer muttered.

“Huh?”

“No, not very hungry.” She was wearing shorts, and the vanilla of his cone didn't look nearly as inviting as that pale, soft skin. It was summer and she was still so pale; what was up with that?

He almost placed a hand on her bare thigh, caught himself, and wolfed down his cone as a sort of pseudo-punishment-slash-distraction. The act seemed to come out of nowhere, and Bubbles giggled.

Empty-handed now, he pouted at her. “What?”

She shook her head. “You're just...” She shook her head again, smiled. “Nothing. You're silly. Cute.” She leaned a little closer, holding her ice cream out to the side, away from them. “You know, that sort of thing.”

Boomer's hands, sticky from drippy vanilla, fumbled for the chains of the tire swing and closed around them. Bubbles' knees were most definitely touching his now, starting to move past them, even, and there was a sort of come-hither look she was giving him that he didn't think was legal, or at least shouldn't have been, because man, if girls went around making faces like that all the time the men of the world would pretty much just roll over and die on account of the exploding heart epidemic.

Boomer sensed a soft rumble, vibrating through her knee against his inner thigh, and he cleared his throat, said, “That's,” paused, cleared his throat again, and said, a little louder, “That's your phone.”

“That's okay,” she whispered, face closing in on his. Boomer wondered if he had any ice cream residue left on his face.

“Um, i-it might—might be your sisters.”

“I don't care.”

“Or the distress signal?”

“No, it isn't.”

“Your, uh, your...” He swallowed. “Your ice cream's melting.”

Her head was already angled, her eyes already closed. When she whispered, the swell of her lips bumped against his.

“So. What.”

It was safe to say Boomer never expected this, that when he first saw Bubbles he really only saw a target: a cute, deceptively vulnerable girl with a gorgeous voice, and wanted her for his own the way an eight-year-old might want a toy. And then the toy turned around and kissed him, and bumped her knees against his, and could make this face that had _definitely_ not been advertised, and at first it had been a matter of just owning it, but if that was the case, then who owned who now, exactly?

Their legs were touching so he could still feel her phone, vibrating ceaselessly, could dimly register the rapid disintegration of her ice cream as it dripped on the ground, and when she kissed him his hands, still wrapped around the chains of the swing, clenched, and the metal made a nasty grinding sound as it yielded to the pressure.

Bubbles was cute and kissing him and was his (or he was hers, maybe), and on this excruciatingly hot August day she tasted like the best fucking chocolate ice cream he'd ever had.

***

“I see.” Mrs. Morbucks paused to sip at her coffee. Brick sat across from her at the grand table where, almost six months ago, he'd been sitting in this very chair next to Blossom as Mrs. Morbucks introduced him to the love of his life. His hands were wrapped around his own coffee, otherwise untouched. She smiled at him.

“Just out of curiosity, Brick, how much pride did you have to swallow before coming to me?”

“I don't know that it was so much pride as it was another rent check,” he said quietly. He'd just barely had enough to cover it this time.

“Mm. Obtaining money shouldn't be a problem for you and your brothers.”

“We wouldn't have a problem securing funds, no,” he said carefully, and thought of Blossom. “The problem would follow very shortly after securing them, though.”

_In three streaks of pink, blue, and green._ Yes, that would pose a _significant_ problem.

Mrs. Morbucks was looking at him expectantly, and he made sure to let no trace of the tension he felt seep into his expression. This wasn't a matter of pride. This was a matter of business.

“I believe—if you need further convincing, that is,” he said, “that you could consider this a sort of long-term investment.”

She lifted her eyebrows, curious. “Is that right?”

“You spoke to me about PRM partnering with JS. If you decide to take on my request, I could guarantee such a partnership would take place.”

She studied him a long moment. “How long before that can happen?”

“The original plan was to act in roughly four years.”

  
“And have the recent personnel changes at JS, Inc. affected this?”

“Some, um, restructuring of the plan will have to be done.” Brick rubbed at the lip of his cup, glaring past it. “But I'm still aiming for four.”

“Ambitious boy,” Mrs. Morbucks said, and sipped her coffee. Brick stayed quiet.

“So four years,” she sighed, tipping her head back against her chair to think. “To be honest, I wasn't expecting the wait to be so short. In which case.” She lifted her head to look Brick in the eye. “As a sort of payment for services, I suppose I can provide you and your brothers with a monthly allowance so you can maintain your current standard of living. Within reason, of course.”

Brick tried not to sigh his relief. “Of course.”

“I'll just consider it the price I'll be paying for accelerated, high quality work,” she said, and Brick sensed the underlying warning in her voice.

“You won't be disappointed,” he said smoothly, and finally lifted his cold coffee cup to his lips.

“You know, Brick, I have a bit of a proposal for you as well,” she continued, and he paused before sipping. “Since I'll be staying in Townsville for awhile yet, and since idle hands are the devil's tools,” (Brick politely refrained from commenting) “I thought I might enlist your help again for another few events I'd like to put on here at the Manor.”

He hesitated before saying, “With Blossom?”

Her smile said it all. He lowered his coffee cup back to the table and said, “Have you... spoken with her yet?”

“I thought I might ask if you were interested first.”

_Far from it_ , he thought vehemently to himself, the image of Blossom dancing in his shirt burning his mind's eye. “Beyond our monthly allowance, would there be any additional incentive for me to participate?”

“I know people, Brick,” she said with a sly smile. “And you could know people, too.”

He stared at her, contemplating. A woman like Mrs. Morbucks would know a lot of Reccardis.

He shrugged. “Consider me interested, then.”

“Good to hear. I'll get in touch with your partner this week, before school starts. I imagine I'd like to do at least two more events while you two are Seniors. Is there any more business you have to discuss with me?”

Brick glanced to the side. There was a phone at the end of the table, silent, waiting.

“Actually, Mrs. Morbucks, I was wondering if I could use your phone.”

***

“JS, Incorporated, how may I direct your call?” Penny's familiar voice sounded through the earpiece, and Brick's hand clenched around the phone.

“Hello, Penny,” he said quietly, and he could almost sense the woman stiffening on the other end. Brick couldn't say it was him; he was sure they were monitoring calls. As expected, Mrs. Morbucks had set up her line so that any calls made out of her house were untraceable.

It was good to hear Penny's voice again. “I was wondering if you could tell me if the Rowdyruff Boys are available for a job.”

“Regretfully, the Boys are currently on leave from the company,” she said. Brick had expected that answer; he imagined Penny herself had added the “regretfully” and was almost touched. It was a setup question, though, for the really important one to follow.

“That's a shame. How long will the Boys be on leave?”

“Currently indefinitely,” she replied, not skipping a beat, and Brick clenched his empty hand to keep from crushing the phone. Darius had been bullshitting him about only a year, the fucking bastard.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“You aren't the first, sir,” she said flippantly, and Brick unclenched his fist, waiting. “The requests for the Boys have been piling up. We've had to put a significant amount of client requests on hold for the time being. Whenever the Boys get back, they're going to be very, very busy.”

He wondered if they were losing clients to competitors. Then again, if they were, the requests wouldn't be piling up, would they? He almost asked, but he'd already kept Penny on the phone long enough for someone who was calling with a job, and besides, a potential client with business to do wouldn't ask about something like that.

“Do you need me to put your request on hold?” Penny asked.

“That isn't necessary,” he said. “I was wondering, though, if Cole is still at JS, Inc.” Depending on the way Penny worded her answer, he could tell whether Cole was—

“Cole is no longer with the company,” she answered. Shit. Cole was dead. Had he just been relieved of his position she would've said he had moved on to “pursue other endeavors.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Thanks for your time, Penny,” he said, and the phone clicked as he set it back in its cradle.

Mrs. Morbucks was politely waiting outside the room for him, and fell into step beside him as he exited.

“Informative phone call?” she asked. Penny's _indefinitely_ rang in his head.

“Yes.”

“So I've given some more thought to the events I'll be throwing,” Mrs. Morbucks said, moving on. “I believe the first will be in November. I'd like to commission you and Blossom to be in charge of the choreography.”

Brick blinked and looked at her. “I'm sorry?”

“Actually, we should discuss this with Blossom present. Do you want to come with me to her show?”

He furrowed his brow. “'Her show?' Is she dancing today?”

“At the community center, yes,” Mrs. Morbucks answered. “All the dancers that use the space are putting on a little performance tonight. I believe she choreographed the five-year-old ballerinas and will be dancing with a crew and doing a solo as well. Come along, I'll give you a ride.”

“I'll pass,” he muttered, ignoring the part of him that regretted saying so. “Just fill me in later on whether she agrees or not.”

“Oh, she'll agree, Brick,” Mrs. Morbucks said, opening the front door for him.

“You sound pretty confident for not having even asked her yet.” The sky was on the hinge of dusk, and the air was still heavy with heat.

Mrs. Morbucks smirked as he left. “Even seasoned women such as myself all started as young girls, once.”

Brick wasn't sure what that had to do with it, but when he turned around to ask, Mrs. Morbucks had already closed the door.

***

“Buttercup,” Blossom said sternly, hands on her hips and foot comically tapping the floor. “Get. Up.”

Buttercup mumbled in her sleep and curled tighter into her blankets.

“It's the first day of school! Set a precedent for the rest of the year! Or this morning, at least!”

“I'm going to be up at five am every morning starting next week,” Buttercup muttered, pulling her ratty old green throw over her head. “I'm enjoying this precious sleep time I have left while I still can.”

“Get _up_! The Professor is almost done with breakfast!”

Buttercup responded by curling away from her sister, to the wall.

“ _Butter—_ ”

Blossom was interrupted by the sudden _VRRRRING_!!! of the vacuum cleaner, and she jumped. Bubbles steered the offensive noisemaker over to Buttercup's bed, where the green lump burrowed tighter into itself, obstinate in its refusal to awaken. Bubbles responded by lifting the vacuum onto her bed, where the corner of her precious green blankie was mercilessly sucked in.

Buttercup was instantly up and screaming, “ _HEY_! _Cut that out_! _You'll ruin it_!” She snatched the mass of blanket that was threatening to be devoured and pulled. Bubbles only clicked up the intensity of the vacuum, and the volume of the whirring increased.

The bedroom erupted into a cacophony of discordant noise as Buttercup and the vacuum cleaner tried to out-volume each other. Blossom watched dumbly, feeling a headache coming on. She finally intervened by pulling the plug on the vacuum cleaner just as Bubbles aimed it at Buttercup's chest, and Buttercup was able to extricate her sleepwear from the offending appliance.

“You know what sucks?” Buttercup snarled, rolling her childhood safety blanket into a protective ball and tucking it behind her pillow.

“Vacuum cleaners?” Bubbles said, blinking wide, innocent eyes as she held up the item in question.

“ _You_!” Buttercup snapped.

“Good morning to you too, Buttercup,” Bubbles replied airily, and floated out to join the Professor at the breakfast table. Blossom sighed and followed suit.

After some heated grumbling to an empty room, Buttercup made her way downstairs in record time. The Professor greeted her but was mostly preoccupied with drilling Bubbles about her new beau.

“I want you to bring him by,” he said, looking _very_ intense for the morning.

“Oh, Professor, you've been so busy,” she said, spooning out grapefruit.

“I need to meet him! If he's going to date one of my girls—”

“You'll meet him soon. I promise I'll bring him by.”

“I mean, honey, I don't ask for much, I try not to put restrictions on who you date—I know you girls are perfectly capable of taking care of yourselves, to a point—but you know at the very least you need to introduce me to him, especially considering he's... you know...”

“A Rowdyruff Boy?” Buttercup and Blossom finished simultaneously.

“ _Yes_! That is a pretty big deal, Bubbles! I mean, it sounds like he's... settled down...” And here the Professor clutched his spoon in his hands and bent it unwittingly as he spoke.

“He has,” Bubbles assured him, gently tugging the spoon away from him and bending it back into form. She looked their father in the eye. “I _promise_ , you'll get to meet him. Very soon. I'll even let you have as much time with him as you want.”

This calmed the Professor down. Buttercup and Blossom exchanged a glance with each other, then looked at Bubbles, who hummed cheerily to herself as she finished her breakfast. The Professor began to wax on poetic about the pride he felt at his girls entering their final year of high school, which ended—rather predictably—on a tearful note as he lamented how big they'd gotten, how time had flown, and how it seemed like it was only yesterday that they were five and little, the most precious things ever, and that no matter how big they got they would always be his three precious little girls.

Bubbles patted him affectionately and then got up to get their massive first day lunch out of the fridge. Buttercup and Blossom, meanwhile, only wondered what the Professor had in store for Boomer.

***

Blossom was being civil to him, or at least, they weren't getting into screaming or death glare matches like they had at the beginning of last semester. She was very obviously resisting eye contact, though. Not that Brick cared or anything. It wasn't like he was looking. He just. Um. He could sense things. Yeah. That was it.

According to Mrs. Morbucks, she'd already spoken to Blossom about her plans for the two of them to dance together again, and Blossom had agreed. The news had simultaneously surprised Brick and... something else. He wasn't—well, he hadn't been disappointed. Just surprised and... something else.

However, he himself hadn't spoken to her, and Blossom hadn't given any indication that she'd spoken with Mrs. Morbucks at all. He suspected she was upset. She wasn't spitting at him, granted, but she was practically ignoring him. Which was, in some ways, even more irritating.

They hadn't interacted or seen each other since Boomer and Bubbles had gotten together on that ridiculous day, and Brick thought that Blossom had had more sense than to hold a grudge against someone who had, for all intents and purposes, saved the day. Even if it did involve nearly sacrificing her sister to do it, and had been a risk at that, but still! Brick had turned out to be right, hadn't he? After all, Bubbles herself didn't seem to be holding a grudge...

As evidenced by her gleeful salutation when Brick entered their Art class.

She beamed and tugged up a student Brick didn't recognize. “And this is Brick! Our resident tall, dark, and moody bad boy. He's a Rowdyruff Boy, you know.”

The girl Bubbles was gripping by the hand blinked a little fearfully. Brick turned on Bubbles and snapped, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Class introductions,” she said innocently. “This is Julie. We were in Kindergarten together, but then she transferred to Herriman's Private Academy, and now she's transferred _back_ to Townsville High!” She nudged Julie. “Say, 'Hi.' He's not going to bite you.”

“Don't make assumptions about what I will and will not do,” he said darkly.

“He might allow some evil squirmy thing to possess your body, though, so just keep your distance when there's an attack,” Bubbles continued.

“Um, hi,” Julie said, less fearful and more confused now.

Brick ignored them and sat down.

Miss Maybury brought the class to attention and began her introductory lecture. They were going to start off the semester with sculpting, and she was passing out a list of materials they'd need, along with the paperwork permitting the students' pieces to be displayed in the gallery. Brick felt the teacher's eyes on him as she went over the handouts, and he pretended to busy himself with reading them.

“Oh, there is one thing to note!” Miss Maybury said. “Something very exciting! Next week—I know it's early, but the opportunity was too good to pass up—there's going to be a photo shoot here in Townsville, featuring—” And here she indicated Bubbles, who grinned sheepishly. “Bubbles and her sisters!”

The class offered various congratulatory remarks and questions about who the shoot was for.

“Modern Girl magazine,” Brick heard Bubbles reply.

“So what we'll do—sorry, I lied about the sculpting—is open the semester with a few weeks dedicated to photography. Thanks to various people—including Mrs. Morbucks and Modern Girl—we'll be attending the session as a class, and will get the opportunity to shoot some photos of our own with the new camera equipment Mrs. Morbucks has donated to our department. A select few students' photos will be displayed in a special section of the magazine, alongside the interview.” Miss Maybury clapped her hands. “Isn't that exciting?! A professional photo shoot!”

_Yay_ , Brick thought joylessly to himself. _Great_.

Miss Maybury gave them the rest of the class to tinker around with the camera equipment. Mrs. Morbucks had been generous; she'd paid for top-of-the-line digital SLR cameras, nearly enough for the entire class. They were going to split into groups for the shoot and trade off between the digital SLRs and the traditional film-based SLRs amongst themselves.

“You know what I used to call these when I was a kid?” Bubbles said as she pointed one of the older models at Brick. “Elephant noses!”

“Is there any film in that?” Brick asked in a bored tone as he navigated the menu of a digital model.

“No.” Bubbles lowered the camera. “Why? Do you want me to take your picture?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I was only curious.”

“Miss Maybury says we'll get to use the darkroom in the journalism room!” Bubbles said, near-to-bursting with excitement. “Isn't that cool?! I've never been in there before! I'm going to take, like, a bazillion pictures on film so I can watch them all develop!”

“Does that mean you'll only be taking, like, a bahundred pictures digitally?” Brick asked mockingly.

Bubbles snatched the camera he was looking at out of his hands and replaced it with hers. “Here. Switch with me.”

He glared at her. “You know, generally? You ask permission before doing that.”

“Generally you ask permission before letting a giant black spike of death stab a pretty girl in the heart, too,” she responded.

Brick didn't have a retort for that.

The bell rang for the passing period, and on his way out the door Brick was accosted yet again by Bubbles, who also had Julie in tow.

“What now?!” he demanded as she dragged them both along.

“It's lunch, duh!” she said, steering them through the crowd to the cafeteria.

“I do not eat lunch here!”

“No, you just glare at your food until it gets scared and eats itself,” Bubbles said. “I know. I've seen you.”

“No you haven't!”

“Well, I'm a good guesser.”

Brick was about to ask why she was so hellbent on getting him to eat lunch with her when he spotted all their respective siblings clustered at one table. Boomer was handing a giant bag to Buttercup, who opened it and inspected it shrewdly.

“Hi everyone!” Bubbles greeted loudly, and pecked Boomer on the cheek. “Hi, Boomer.”

Boomer only blushed.

“Thanks for letting us keep lunch in your locker,” she said, beaming at him as they sat down. Brick rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but Bubbles snatched him by a belt loop and yanked him down into the seat next to her so hard the table's opposite end rose off the floor.

“Oh, no you don't,” she warned.

“I am not even hungry,” he lied.

“Good,” Butch said, mouth watering as Buttercup started distributing tupperware. “More for me.”

Brick's curiosity got the better of him. “What's all this for?”

“This is the first of the first school days where me and my sisters actually have lunch together,” Bubbles said. “So I wanted to do something special! Then I found out from Boomer that you guys were in this lunch too, and I thought, well, the more the merrier—”

“Butch, you do not have this lunch,” Brick said abruptly.

“Nope,” his brother responded casually. “But I had a class that was just _dying_ to be skipped.”

Blossom, who, to her immense dissatisfaction, was seated next to him, said, “You are setting a terrible example as a Senior.”

“I set a terrible example as a person,” Butch corrected.

Brick glanced at Blossom, who had scoffed and was now re-focused on her AP Economics reading. Whether she felt the weight of his gaze on her or not, he wasn't sure, but he did see her glance at the empty seat next to her.

His own attention was drawn to it, and he glanced away, then back—

“Oh, Julie! I completely forgot to introduce you. Here, sit next to Blossom. Girls, it's Julie Bean! She's transferred back from Herriman's! Guys, this is Julie. She's new. To you, at least. Us girls were all in Kindergarten together.”

“Julie?” Blossom looked up. “We haven't seen you in years!”

“I know, it's crazy,” Julie laughed, a little nervous.

“I totally didn't recognize you,” Buttercup said, then squinted. “Did you...” She trailed off, then indicated her own face. “Did you get something done?”

“Buttercup!” Blossom scolded.

“Um, yeah,” Julie mumbled.

“You look good,” Buttercup said, looking only slightly apologetic about the faux pas. Bubbles waved at Julie to get into her seat.

“Fresh meat, you said?” Butch asked, eyes glittering as Julie took her seat. He reached a hand around Blossom's shoulders for Julie's hair. “You've got something in your—”

Blossom immediately smacked him face first into the table. She turned to Julie. “Do not let him touch you.”

Julie looked from a groaning Butch to Brick. “If you're the tall, dark, and moody bad boy, which one is he?”

“The one with a mental disability,” Brick said bluntly.

“And the cute one is mine,” Bubbles said, giggling as she leaned her head on Boomer's shoulder. Boomer, meanwhile, looked as if red was his new permanent color.

Buttercup gagged as she passed a container to Julie (“You can have mine, I'll share with Boomer,” Bubbles urged). “You two are disgusting. You hear me? _Disgusting_. We shouldn't have bothered packing dessert, because in about five seconds you both are going to make me start barfing cupcakes.”

Bubbles cocked her head. “If you could barf cupcakes, what flavor would they be?”

“ _Could we stop talking about barfing when we're about to eat_?” Blossom said in a strained voice. “And when we have _company_?!”

Buttercup nodded at Julie. “Sorry about earlier. But seriously, you look good.”

“She thinks you're cute,” Butch explained, and Buttercup whacked him in the head.

“Oh,” Julie said, blushing. “I'm not—”

“ _Neither am I_ ,” Buttercup said, glaring at Butch.

“So what do you think of public school compared to Herriman's?” Bubbles asked, spooning a bite of food into Boomer's mouth (“I feel a vanilla with sprinkles coming on,” Buttercup gagged).

Blossom perked up. “I've heard they have a great academic program there. And those girls really know how to move. We faced Herriman's in last year's state competition!”

“State competition for what—” Suddenly Julie's eyes lit up. “Oh my God, Dance! That's right! You were, like, unstoppable! I was on the team; we couldn't stop talking about you and how amazing you were—”

“Oh, geez, thank you,” Blossom said modestly—

“Don't make her head any bigger than it already is,” Brick commented, finally prying off the lid to his lunch, and Blossom glared at him.

“I don't believe anybody asked for your opinion.”

“A mistake a lot of people make.”

Blossom huffed, “I wouldn't solicit advice from someone who tried to sacrifice my sister in a dire situation.”

“That was an act of heroism!” he snapped.

“Except it was going after you,” Bubbles pointed out.

“So it was less heroic and more cowardly,” Buttercup said.

“Say that a little louder _, Buttercup_ , _”_ Brick seethed, his eyes glowing red. “I didn't quite catch that.”

Unperturbed, Buttercup looked him right in the eye and enunciated, “You're. A. _Pussy_.”

“ _Fuck you_!”

“Language!” Blossom snapped.

“You are so cute!” Bubbles cooed at Boomer.

“Speaking of fucking,” Butch moaned. “This food? Is like an orgasm in my mouth.”

“Did everybody miss the part where I said let's stop the gross talk when we're _eating_?” Blossom cried.

“You only mentioned barfing,” Boomer finally spoke up.

“I made that food,” Buttercup pointed out.

“I made dessert!” Bubbles said, pressing herself to Boomer's side. “Peach tart!”

“I love peaches,” Boomer mumbled, blushing again.

“I also love tart, juicy, supple peaches,” Butch sneered. Blossom and Buttercup both whacked him in the face.

“Don't think I didn't get that,” Blossom warned. “That was a sexual reference.”

“Brick, you haven't touched your food,” Bubbles said. “Here—”

Before Brick could respond Bubbles shoveled a spoonful into his mouth. He slapped her hand away and yanked the spoon out, ready to stab it into her eye, when he paused. Everybody stared at Brick as his eyes glazed over and he looked at his container of food.

After a swallow, he croaked, “What is this?”

“Tabouli Provençal,” Buttercup responded smugly.

“Holy shit, that's incredible,” Brick said, awed.

Julie was looking around at the group of them. “Okay, I haven't been around since I was five, so... are you guys... did you all grow up together or something?”

The entire table looked at her.

“It's just...” She shrugged and shook her head. “You know, never mind.”

***

Brick had only one free block this school year, and he spent it cruising around town in his Coil. Since he was out, he went ahead and bought all the materials he'd need for sculpting, then dropped most of his stuff off at home before heading back to school to corner Blossom.

They needed to reach some fucking conclusion on this whole working together thing. He figured when Mrs. Morbucks said she wanted them to choreograph a show, she mostly meant Blossom. Who'd probably enjoy it. The girl clearly liked being in charge.

After parking his car and entering the building, Brick was surprised to find the studio empty. He then recalled from conversations with Butch that the school was having a pep rally on the first day, and the Dance Company was very likely performing and announcing their new officers...

Blossom, as the Dance Major, was obviously going to be dancing there. Brick ignored the dim pull he felt in the direction of the gym—yes, definitely a pep rally going on; he didn't even need superhearing to pick up on the cheers—and seated himself in a corner of the studio, flipping open his sketchbook to keep himself occupied while he waited.

After some time, a few girls began to filter in. They were clearly surprised to find Brick there, and a little uncomfortable, but he paid them no heed, and after awhile they went on socializing as they warmed up. More girls arrived; Brick glanced up occasionally, but Blossom wasn't among them.

“Brick? I didn't know you danced.”

He looked up to find the new girl—Julie, or whatever—standing next to him, looking semi-relieved to see a face she recognized. Never mind that it was Brick's scary face, but then again, every face in a new high school seemed scary.

“Sorry to bug you, I just don't know any of these girls.”

He grunted.

“Are you with the Company?” Julie asked, and Brick shook his head.

“No. I'm waiting for Blossom.”

“Oh, of course.”

Something about the way she said it unnerved Brick, and he shot her a long, cold stare. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Julie seemed so relieved to be holding a conversation with someone that she was absolutely oblivious to the dangerous look Brick was giving her.

“Well, you guys are together, aren't you?”

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” Brick growled. “What in the hell gave you that idea?”

To his irritation his reaction didn't seem to frighten her, but at least her eyes widened a bit and she said, “You aren't? I just thought that, because you kind of fight like you're an old couple and all—”

Brick was about to call it a God damn fucking day and just go home when Blossom and the rest of the officers waltzed in. A bunch of girls cheered; evidently their routine had been a hit. Blossom was smiling when she came in, but her expression soured when she caught sight of Brick. He suddenly wondered why the fuck he'd bothered coming.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You talk to Mrs. Morbucks yet?” he demanded.

She closed her eyes and sighed, then told her other officers to get started without her. She walked to a corner of the studio, out of the way, indicating for Brick to follow her.

“Yes,” she said, leaning against the wall.

Brick gave it a few seconds before saying expectantly, “And?”

“I agreed,” she muttered.

“You didn't fucking say anything.”

“Language. And what, like you didn't know? I'm sure she told you.”

“You've got such a big mouth I would've expected you to be going off about it all day.”

“You know what, Brick, I'm _really_ looking forward to partnering with you again,” she said, glaring at him. “If it wasn't for the money she was offering me—”

“Selling out, are you?”

“Every cent of what she gives me is going straight to charity,” she snapped. “What about you? Hustling another car out of her? Or just play money this time?”

“None of your business,” he snarled.

“I don't even care,” she spat. “You know, you've got some nerve, talking to me the way you do. After what you did to Bubbles—”

“I did _nothing_ to your sister—”

“And after the whole shooting in the gym, I thought you were—” Blossom cut off, then scoffed and shook her head. “Never mind what I thought. I thought wrong.”

“You think a lot of wrong things,” Brick grumbled.

“I think a lot of right things, too,” she responded in kind. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“And what's that?” he said, eyes flashing red, daring her to elaborate. Blossom stood her ground, refusing to flinch or so much as blink. She summoned a sardonic grin onto her face.

“I think you're really something, Brick. _Really_. Something.”

With that, she pushed past him, refusing to look at him or stand anywhere near his person a second longer, the same way she'd been doing all day. Brick glared at her over his shoulder as she continued to ignore him and joined the officers at the front to lead the Company into rehearsal.

Why had he even fucking bothered coming to see her?

He thought for a second about changing the fucking music on the stereo and interrupting her stupid practice, forcing her to start figuring out what the fuck they were going to do for this show, this dumb, stupid show that he shouldn't have agreed to in the first place, about leading her into a dance to show her, show everybody that he fucking _belonged_ here, he fucking _owned_ the place, what did they know, what did she know—

He thought of maybe blowing up the entire God damn studio, just to get her to stop this stupid fucking _ignoring him_ shit.

Instead, he just left.

***

Friday afternoon arrived sooner than expected, and it had been, by Boomer's account, a pretty good first week. Butch seemed to think so, too. Brick was the only one who seemed to be struggling—and by struggling, that meant he was clearly making an effort not to explode and take the whole world with him when he did.

Boomer would have asked, but he was preoccupied these days, what with practicing with No Neck Joe and...

These days he couldn't even think her name without blushing to the dust, or, if he was walking, tripping over his own two feet.

He darted a glance at the clock for the fifteenth time in the past three minutes. Fed up and impatient, he bid goodbye to Mitch and the twins and gathered his things, swiveling out of the practice rooms and over to the Choir Hall.

The dim drone of the marching band seeped through the walls, and he adjusted his hearing, trying to pick out the more subdued hum of the choir. The horns and percussion faded as the vocalizations of a couple hundred students in harmony rose to take its place, and he resisted the urge to quicken his pace. It really wouldn’t look very cool if he was spotted in the music hall at an all out run.

He made certain to slow his steps at the first glimpse of the choir, eyes immediately drawn to the corner of window where Bubbles would slide into his line of vision. He tried to pick her voice out of the crowd, but paused when he saw her and felt a little stupid, since she was sitting and studying her music with the rest of the Sopranos, mouth firmly closed and puckered in thought.

His heart knotted in his chest. It was always knotting these days, tying itself up over and over again when he saw her, or heard her, even when she crossed his mind. Every time it happened he thought of how clear her eyes had been amidst all that shadow, how she'd looked at him with a devotion he’d never been subjected to, how her fists had clenched in his shirt as she'd whispered three little words that he’d said once to her with no real weight behind them, words that had taken on new meaning and strength in that deceptively tiny voice of hers.

Choir practice wrapped up soon enough, and, as was customary now, he waited by the doors for her. A few students greeted him as they passed, and he nodded at them. Bubbles was one of the last students to leave, with Kim and Mary flanking either side of her.

She was already looking for him as she approached the door, and he swallowed his heart back into his chest as she caught sight of him and smiled.

“I'll catch up with you guys later,” she said to her friends.

“You're coming to the Dance Company's thing tonight, right?” Kim asked.

“Of course, my sister's in it,” Bubbles laughed, and waved at them as they left. She turned to Boomer now, grinning. “Hey there.”

He tried not to blush and failed miserably. “Hi.”

“You're coming with me tonight, yeah?” Her hand closed around his, and he clenched back to keep her from noticing he was shaking, very slightly.

“Of course.”

She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked out into the afternoon sunshine.

“Good.”

To kill time until she had to go home and freshen up, at Bubbles' suggestion they went for a walk. They meandered lazily about the suburban streets surrounding the school, and eventually the houses grew sparser and they found themselves skirting the edge of a deserted elementary school.

Boomer glanced at the playground. “Did you go here?”

She looked up. “Yeah. I remember when that playground was wooden, though. They replaced it after me and my sisters left.” She pouted. “I miss it. It was way more fun than that plastic one they have now.”

Boomer stared and tried to picture a younger Bubbles laughing as she darted around the playground, hanging off of monkey bars and clambering up the slide the wrong way.

“I wish I'd been around to see that,” he said, and meant it. He really did. He wished he hadn't been such a stupid little kid. He could've played with her, and they could've grown up friends instead of enemies, and he might've felt this sooner, this easing of an unbearable weight in his heart every time she looked at him, touched him, kissed him.

A drop of water suddenly spattered against his cheek, and they both glanced up.

“Oh my goodness,” Bubbles said, lighting up. “It's a summer rain!”

They both stared up at the light, sun-speckled rain until Boomer remembered his guitar was slung on his back, and Bubbles tugged them under the shelter of an old tree. Its branches were so dense that no amount of rain could reach them, and she laughed as Boomer shook the water from his hair.

“Is your guitar okay?” she asked.

“It's fine,” he said, after a quick inspection. Bubbles smiled and leaned against the trunk of the tree, inhaling deeply. After a moment she motioned at Boomer.

“Come here.”

He obeyed; how could he not, when she looked so beautiful and happy and so fucking perfect? She reached for his hands as he faced her and brought one up against her cheek. She kissed it, and God, he could've died there, right then and there.

The perfect moment. She was looking up at him, almost expectantly.

It was hard. He'd never been good with words, no, but these weren't complicated, the ones he was thinking, the ones he couldn't stop thinking when she was near to him like this. He'd even said them before. So why were they so hard now?

He kissed her instead, a soft, shy kiss, and still it felt like the world was going down in a fiery blaze of glory only to be reborn in that very instant. He had never felt this way before, ever.

She smiled into the kiss, was still smiling when he pulled away, blushing, like he always did. And then she proved she was far braver than he could ever hope to be.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, in a voice as small as the first time she'd said it, and she made it look so easy, sound so easy.

He immediately shrugged off his guitar, heard her yelp as it smacked against the ground, discordant notes protesting as they echoed in the well, and despite it being one of his most prized possessions Boomer couldn't give a fuck. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, really kissed her, pressed her against the tree and said it the only way he could. He felt her stifle a gasp, felt her shudder as his lips melted into hers.

It seemed like forever before he managed to pull himself away, their foreheads almost touching as they panted for breath. His eyes traced the swell of her lower lip, red and a little swollen.

“Wh-what was that for?” she whispered, cracking a dim, heavy-lidded smile.

He said nothing, only pressed his cheek into her hand when she touched it, wondering if she could feel how warm his skin grew against hers.

***

Against his better judgment, Brick went to the performance.

He found Buttercup and Butch soon enough—it wasn't hard; once he entered the Fine Arts Center's auditorium all he had to do was wait until he heard someone get smacked—and sat next to his brother in silence while they dicked around with their friends, seated on Buttercup's opposite side.

“Say,” he said to Butch, after a thought occurred to him. “Where's Boomer?”

“With Bubbles, hiding from her dad,” Butch said.

“The Professor's back there with some other parents,” Buttercup interjected, leaning over. “What are you doing here, Brick?”

He shrugged and grunted. “Nothin' better to do,” he muttered. Which was a lie. He always had something better to do. But the thought of showing Blossom just how damn mature he was gave him the tiniest modicum of self-satisfaction. She could ignore him all she wanted. _He_ at least was going to be an adult about it.

“I am ready for the sexy-times to start!” Butch said as the lights dimmed, and Buttercup smacked him.

“My dad is up there and I am pretty sure he can hear you, fucker!” she hissed at him.

“Hey, Brick, did you bring any tissues?”

“No,” Brick said flatly. “Why? What for?”

“So I've got something to jerk off into when BlosOMPH—”

“ _Shut the fuck up_!” Brick snarled, his fist in Butch's face.

“ _Are you even listening to me_?!” Buttercup snapped, her fist in Butch's gut.

As Butch leaned over and rearranged his face, Brick settled back in his seat with a thump. He then straightened and lifted his chin as the curtain rose so Blossom could see him being a better person than her when they hit the lights. He wouldn't even laugh at her when she fell off from the shock, that was how mature he was.

She was already there along with the rest of the Company, covering every inch of that stage. He saw Buttercup perusing a program out of the corner of his eye and reached for it; she automatically held it out over Butch so they could both see.

“She choreographed this one?” he whispered.

“Opening number, yeah,” she replied.

The music started, commanding their attention, and Blossom was already moving, slinking her way amidst all the still dancers on the stage.

She was amazing. Of course she was. Brick knew that. So he focused on sitting straight up in his seat, radiating waves of superiority at her. But halfway through it stopped mattering. Somewhere in the middle of the opening number, maybe when the hip hop team (led by Blossom, of course) gave way to the contemporary dancers (with Blossom there, on the right edge), Brick forgot about being superior and merely watched. It wasn't until the end of that number that he even realized she had not once looked at him.

The room exploded into applause around him. Buttercup was threatening Butch with her fists if he so much as uttered a word. Brick stared at the lights on the stage. That was probably what kept her from seeing him. The lights were too damn bright.

What followed were a few more numbers from the individual teams—Blossom was in a few of them—but what kept most of the guys in the auditorium planted in their seats was the promise of the Induction Dance, choreographed by last year's major, Alicia, and featuring the heavenly image of a tight-clad, corset-wearing Blossom. Nobody talked much about it, though, since her father was in the back, promising scientific warfare at every male student head he glared at.

Butch slept until the appointed time, while Brick took out his sketchbook and doodled. Eventually Buttercup nudged Butch awake, and they all sat up as the spotlights flooded the closed curtains.

“Whoo! Go Blossom!” some random guy shouted, and then something heavy connected with a body.

“ _I'm watching you, you little punk_!”

“Oh my God, my dad is crazy,” Buttercup groaned, hunkering down in her seat in shame.

Brick pocketed his sketchbook as the music came on and the curtain rose, and then the oxygen intake for the entirety of the teenage male population in the auditorium plummeted.

Butch actually crushed the arms of his chair, splintering the wood. “Oh. My. _God_.”

Brick just stared, clenching his jaw again and again. It wasn't even like her costume was that revealing—save for her shoulders, she was almost completely covered. It wasn't even like the dancing was that suggestive; it was more fun, playful, like a Broadway routine. There wasn't any winking, any lip-puckering, any come-hither looks she was shooting the audience. There wasn't any of that. Blossom didn't do that. Blossom didn't need to.

She moved so fluidly, so effortlessly, even in heels, even in a getup that she would obviously be uncomfortable in despite its relative tameness. She had donned an oversized top hat—obviously a suggestion from one of the girls, maybe Bubbles, even—and God damn, did she wear it well. She wore everything well. She was just... well.

Never mind there were other girls on the stage. She could have easily been standing up there all by herself. Brick watched her, following her across the stage with his eyes almost obsessively, forgetting that they were mad at each other, that they were _supposed_ to be mad at each other, all the time, because they were enemies and that was just how enemies worked.

The closing to the piece came all too soon. The music was building up to a crescendo for the finale, and Butch was leaning so far forward in his seat he was practically three rows ahead of them now, and then Blossom sauntered up the center of the stage, yanked off that magnificent accessory of a hat (man, Brick had a thing for hats), and her upheld hair suddenly came undone, cascading down along her shoulders and framing her face just perfectly, and then Brick heard it.

The sound of the crowd's applause slammed into him like a tidal wave, and he blinked, suddenly keenly aware of every boy in the room clapping for her, cheering for her, _wanting_ her. The number wasn't even over yet, and they were all cheering, every last one of them.

He stared at those hips, those legs, that gorgeous body and that gorgeous face, and he couldn't fucking take this—

He leaped out of his seat, stalked to the aisle, and jetted for the door. He couldn't even remember why he'd come, and now the only reason he was staying was for her, and that was wrong. She wasn't a good enough reason to stay, she wasn't a good enough anything, she wouldn't even look at him, she didn't even fucking know he was _here_.

By the time the dance ended he was already in the parking lot. He hadn't noticed, on his way out, how Blossom's eyes had flickered to him as he'd left, the only movement in the audience attracting her attention, how she'd watched as he clambered to the door, her eyes widening in surprised recognition, and how disappointed she'd suddenly felt that he wasn't sticking around to say, “Hello.”

***

Boomer and Bubbles stared at Butch, prostrate on the ground. “He okay?”

“He saw Blossom's number—you know, the Induction Dance—”

There was a faint moaning sound from the direction of the floor. Buttercup rolled her eyes and dragged him up.

“Come on, loser. We gotta meet up with the guys.”

“Oh, at the diner?” Bubbles tugged Boomer. “We're going, too!” Suddenly her eyes picked up on something just over Buttercup's shoulder, and she immediately grabbed Buttercup, who grabbed Butch, and the four of them stole outside of the crowded lobby of the Fine Arts Center.

“Sorry,” she said as they stopped in a shadowy area by the entrance. “Saw the Professor.”

Boomer looked back. “I don't mind meeting your dad—”

“You'll mind,” the girls said in unison, flatly.

“But you'll get your chance soon enough,” Bubbles assured him.

“Come _on_ , motherfucker,” Buttercup grumbled as she shook Butch. “Wake up!”

“Butch, boobies,” Bubbles said simply, and Butch suddenly shot to.

“ _Where_?” he said, eyes frantically darting around.

“Okay, you'd think that would've been the obvious solution to me,” Buttercup said.

“Oh!” Boomer lit up, realizing something, and looked at Bubbles. “I gotta grab stuff for Floyd. I'm lending him some CDs.”

Bubbles wound her arm in his. “I'll go with you.”

“T-to our apartment?” Boomer stammered, red flooding his face. She only beamed at him.

“I better go, too,” Buttercup sighed. “To make sure no 'sexy-times' happen.”

“Aw, Buttercup,” Butch leered. “Don't you trust us?”

“I'm talking about her, jackass. Plus, I'm curious to see your place.”

Bubbles texted the Professor—he hated that, but it was better than nothing—to let them know they were going out with their friends to a restaurant, and then the four of them took off, the boys leading the way.

“Holy shit, this place is huge,” Buttercup said, awed as the girls stepped over the threshold. Her eyes caught on the television and she stifled a gasp. “ _Butch_! Why are we not having Bad Movie Night at your place _every freaking weekend_?!”

“Bitch, make it happen,” he laughed, enjoying her reaction. As Buttercup flew over to inspect every facet of the home theater system they had set up, Bubbles turned to Boomer.

“It's nice.”

“Yeah?” His eyes flicked nervously to his room, a motion Bubbles caught. She looked, then floated over.

“Is this your room?” she asked, placing her hand against the door.

“Wait, hold up,” he said, zipping over and getting between her and the door. “Let me make sure it's, um, you know, presentable first.”

He went in ahead of her while she politely waited, the door ajar. Boomer rustled around inside, then pulled the door wide open and backed up.

“Sorry about the mess.”

She smirked. “You _are_ a boy, after all.”

He smiled nervously at her until she reminded him about the CDs, and he scrambled over to his shelves to rummage for them. He had a pretty impressive collection; albums on the shelves, scattered on the floor—she saw both his electric and acoustic sitting in a corner of the room. There was a dusty desk to one side—seriously, it looked like it had never been touched—and a more recently used laptop sitting on the edge of it.

“Butch, what kind of movies you got?” Bubbles heard Buttercup ask, back in the living room.

“N to Z,” Butch replied. “Ninja to Zombie.”

The two of them conversed all the way into what Bubbles assumed was Butch's room, and after a second she floated over and very quietly shut the door.

“Okay, got—” Boomer stood, then halted upon seeing Bubbles. His eyes darted to the closed door, and he suddenly had the look of a trapped animal on his face.

She smiled and flew up to him, gently lifting the stack of CDs he'd accumulated out of his hands and setting them on the bed. The bed which, Boomer abruptly realized, they were both standing very close to.

“Um, we sh-should p-probably go,” he sputtered.

“We can fly,” she said quietly, smiling as she placed her hands on his shoulders. “No rush.”

“I just—well, there are people waiting and—”

“No rush, Boomer,” she said firmly.

“Okay,” he agreed.

She sighed and wove her arms around his shoulders, gently lifting her feet off the ground as she did so. After a moment, Boomer hugged her back.

“That was some kiss earlier, you know.” she murmured.

Boomer lowered his face into her shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don't even,” she laughed. She ran a hand through his hair, and he squeezed her a little tighter.

They stood there in silence for a while, just holding each other.

“It's nice here,” Bubbles finally said, happily.

Boomer let his hand drift down the curve of her back. “Yeah.”

***

Brick killed his engine and leaned his head on the wheel, exhaling heavily. He felt such a total lack of control these days. There was the whole thing with JS, losing the fighter and having to pay the rent, and then even when he was cutting deals with Mrs. Morbucks he still had the vague feeling that he was only playing into her hand. Then that whole stupid thing with Him and that stupid black mass with its stupid targeting reasons. And then Boomer had gotten together with Bubbles, and seriously, he was acting so fucking weird and quiet these days...

And then Blossom.

Brick rested his hands in the bottom curve of his steering wheel. He needed to stop going to these things, or at least figure out a way to keep his head together when he did. He didn't understand why he couldn't fucking focus, why he forgot his reasons for being anywhere she was. Hell, even when he remembered his reasons, they always seemed half-formed and more of an excuse than anything. And an excuse to what? To see her? Or to make sure she saw him?

He didn't like it, either way.

_I want to go home_ , he thought to himself, and it sounded so pathetic, so fucking childish that he hated himself for it. But his misery outweighed his pride, and he thought it again, anyway.

_I want to go home_.

It was easy at home. He had a purpose there, a goal. He knew what he was doing. High school was another story. Townsville was another story. So was she.

He flew into their building and up the stairs to the door of his fake home, his temporary home, eager to just get inside and relax.

“I'll bet you fuckers stole that system,” he suddenly heard as he approached their door, and he halted.

“For your information, that thing was paid for.”

_Butch_? And...

Brick's eyes widened as Buttercup's voice said dryly, “Oh, right. By your—”

Brick threw open the door to their apartment, his furious gaze falling on Butch's open door, where his brother and Buttercup were plainly visible.

“What the _fuck_ , Butch?! What the fuck is she doing here?!”

“Oh. Hey, Brick,” Buttercup said, then went back to examining Butch's DVDs.

“What, I can't have a fucking guest over?” Butch asked. Suddenly his eyes widened with a revelation. “Fucking _Christ_. This is the first time I've had a girl in my room ever since we got the place!” Anguish flooded his face. “I haven't fooled around with a girl here _once_!”

“ _Okay_ , so I'm going to go stand in the living room,” Buttercup announced, dropping the DVD in her hands as she floated to the door. “Bubbles! You guys ready to go?”

Brick stared at her, processing her words. Then his head snapped to Boomer's closed door and he dashed to it, crushing the doorknob as he threw the door open.

Boomer and Bubbles were just standing there, holding or hugging or whatever stupid mushy things couples did when they stood together.

“Hi, Brick,” Bubbles said with a smile.

“Oh my fucking Go—Boomer! Butch! What the fuck is the matter with you?!”

“Hey, yeah,” Buttercup added. “You didn't offer us drinks or anything.”

“Get them the hell out of here!” Brick ordered. What if they figured out where the Boys worked? What if they'd gone into Brick's room ( _I would've fucking flayed them alive, that's what_ , he thought) and discovered his desk? He had important shit in his room, what if they'd fucking discovered it? What the fuck, what the _fucking fuck_?!

Bubbles gave a low whistle. “Someone's grumpy.”

“Brick, chill. We're on our way out anyway,” Buttercup sighed, waving a dismissive hand as she walked to the door.

“Yeah, do you wanna come with?” Bubbles asked, still standing in his brother's room, holding his brother's hand. “We're going to—”

“Fuck no, I don't want to 'come with!' I want you to get the hell out!”

“No, Brick, it'll be fun! It'll cheer you right up, seeing other people. Here, I'll even call Blossom and—”

Brick tore into the room, stopping once his face was in Boomer's.

“Get your girlfriend the _fuck_ out of here,” he snarled, his eyes flashing red.

Boomer stared at his leader, his face blank, then he looked away and tugged at Bubbles, who lowered her phone.

“Come on. Let's go.”

Brick's glare followed them all the way out into the living room, where Butch and Buttercup were waiting. Butch was staring off into space, while Buttercup was giving Brick a weird look. He ignored it.

“Oh, Boomer,” Bubbles suddenly said. “Your CDs for—”

“I'll give them to Floyd at school or something,” Boomer said.

She stared at him, then turned her eye on Brick, her expression darkening.

It was Buttercup who said, “Alright, let's go,” and opened the door. She glanced at Brick and rolled her eyes, and he distinctly heard her mutter, “Fucking drama queen,” under her breath as she left.

Bubbles wrapped her arm around Boomer's and beamed at him. “Come on,” she said sweetly, encouragingly. Then she looked at Brick.

A sudden chill shuddered through him at the sight of her expression, and before he could process it they were already gone. He couldn't even recall exactly what she had looked like as the door shut; it had happened so quickly and caught him so off guard.

He sank to the floor with a heavy sigh and fell back on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't in control of anything anymore.

***

It didn't take Blossom long to gather up her things, but as Major she had other responsibilities. Never mind that these responsibilities hadn't actually been _discussed_ ; really, they were more self-imposed. But Blossom felt better when she went through every inch of the dressing room, making sure all the girls' belongings had been squared away, that no one had left anything behind. She checked the backstage and the stage itself, too, for any litter. As always, she was the last girl to emerge into the lobby.

Some people were still standing around, chatting. A few congratulated her. Even more gushed at her over her dancing. A few boys had been brave enough to stay behind to do so, though they had smartly selected a corner that the Professor couldn't see from where he was standing.

As Blossom thanked them and they blushed, she glanced around, scanning the area and wondering.

_No. He probably left._

She said her goodbyes to the boys and walked for the doors, her bag bouncing along her hip. She waved at the Professor, standing by with his keys, and surreptitiously swept her gaze along the rest of the lobby.

_Not here. Of course not._

She exhaled a quiet sigh as she resisted the urge to turn around and give the lobby another once over, and smiled at the Professor.

He had a strained look on his face. “You looked lovely up there. Almost too lovely.”

“Thank you, Professor.” She looked past him, out at the front. “Where's, um... where's Buttercup and Bubbles?”

“They went out,” he said through slightly gritted teeth.

“Oh.”

“Did you want to go anywhere?”

Blossom thought for a second, considering. They'd probably gone somewhere with the Boys, maybe Kim and Robin too. Maybe he'd even tagged along.

She shook her head and looked back up at the Professor.

“No,” she said, feeling a little empty. “Just... home. I just want to go home.”

***

Boomer didn't want her to, but Bubbles followed him home the following week anyway. She could be a very persuasive person when she put her mind to it.

“You don't have to, you know,” Boomer said as they flew to his place. “I mean, if you're scared of him—”

“He doesn't scare me,” she interrupted, pulling him along. “Bugs? Bugs scare me. Ghost stories? Those scare me.” She looked back at him, an encouraging smile on her face. “Brick doesn't scare me.”

Boomer looked mildly impressed but still reluctant, up till the moment they were in front of the door. He looked at her, his keys dangling from his hand.

“You're really something, you know that?” he said, his eyes soft. She only smiled and nudged him with her shoulder.

Brick was there, seated at the kitchen table. He was fiddling with his own SLR, and paused when the door opened. After a moment he resumed playing with the camera.

“Be right back,” Boomer assured her.

“'Kay,” Bubbles chirped, and watched as he darted to his room, not glancing at Brick as he flew by. Brick glanced in his direction, then at Bubbles, still turning the camera over in his hands. He hadn't been very social in Art lately. Then again, Bubbles hadn't really tried talking to him.

“Shut the door,” Brick suddenly said, and Bubbles blinked, then shut the front door.

“We won't be here long. The lit mag's got an open mike thing at the school tonight.” She swung her bag back and forth in her hands. “Boomer's playing, obviously. You coming?”

Brick scoffed, and she took that as a No. She looked around the apartment, bouncing on her heels a bit.

“I heard about the dance thing with Mrs. Morbucks.”

He grunted.

“You and Blossom haven't started meeting or practicing yet, have you?”

Now he was silent, the only sound being the _click_ s of the camera as he continued to play with it.

“That doesn't seem like you two, to... not be on the ball about that.”

“If your sister would talk to me, maybe we could get something done,” he muttered.

She crooked her arms on her hips. “I haven't exactly heard much about _you_ going out of your way to talk to her.”

“I tried.”

“Like a week ago.”

He stilled the camera and looked at her. “She told you?”

“It was a guess. It's only the second week of school, after all.” Bubbles came up and leaned against one of the dining chairs. “She's probably mad at you.”

“She's always mad at me.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “We're always mad at each other. It's good that way.”

“I meant specifically mad, not generally mad.”

“About what?”

She shrugged. “Probably about me.”

He made a noncommittal noise and looked at his camera.

After a moment she continued, “You should apologize. To her, I mean.”

Brick gave her a look. “'Apologize?' I practically fucking saved the day, and her ass, too. You expect me to _apologize_?”

Bubbles looked him in the eye, her expression serious. “No, Brick. Of course I don't. I don't expect you to do much of anything, really, and neither does she. So why don't you surprise both of us for a change?”

Brick stared at her as Boomer re-emerged from his room.

“Sorry! Sorry, one of the strings on my acoustic snapped. I had to re-string it.”

“That's okay,” Bubbles said, all smiles now. She took the CDs for Floyd out of his hand and added them to her bag.

“See you, Brick,” Boomer said hastily as he pulled her towards the door, still not looking at his brother.

Bubbles held back. “I'll drag her out tonight. You can do it then.”

She shut the door behind them, its slam echoing in the hall like a little punctuation mark at the end of a command.

“Hey,” Boomer said, once they were up in the air. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What's that?”

He dropped his voice to an undertone, signifying just how secretive and special this request was.

“It's about Buttercup.”

***

“ _There_ you are!” Butch threw his arms up in the air as Buttercup landed in front of the school. “What the fucking fuck took you so long?”

Buttercup had a bitter look on her face. “Bubbles, my stupid sister, came home and tried to _dress me_.”

Butch considered. “Was the ripping-off-of-clothes involved?”

She smacked him. He had to admit, though, that she did look a little flashier than usual. There were the customary jeans and t-shirt—well, tank top tonight—but there were the less customary bangles collecting at her wrists and a studded belt around her waist. And—

He squinted. “Did the bitch put _glitter_ in your hair?”

“The bitch put glitter in my hair,” Buttercup confirmed. “I got most of it out—yeah, there was more before—but, you know, it's fucking glitter.”

Butch laughed as he thumped his hand on her head and shook, sending faint sparkly specks shimmering down. Buttercup snarled and swiped at him as they moved into the building. The stage in the school atrium was taken over for the evening by Townsville High's would-be slam poets, indie musicians, and future penniless philosophers. Some of the performances were good, most of them were the exact opposite, and a couple—one being Robin, reciting the entirety of _Fox in Socks_ from memory at breakneck speed—went off the top end of the awesome scale.

Butch and Buttercup were discouraged from heckling by Bubbles, who had inexplicably decided to plaster herself to her sister's side this night.

“Why are you being so _clingy_?” Buttercup complained as she tried to pull out of Bubbles' death grip.

Bubbles tightened her arms around her sister's shoulders and mewled.

“That's fucking weird,” Butch said, lip curled in confused disgust.

“Blossom didn't come tonight,” Bubbles whined. “Boomer's prepping to go on. You're all I've gooooot.”

“Go talk to Robin!” Robin was at the back, manning the concession stand when she wasn't being awesome on stage. A few of her fellow concession standers were trying to get her to go on and play Bohemian Rhapsody on her trumpet.

“Robin is _busyyy_...”

“Go talk to Mike!”

“Mike is _busyyy_...” Mike was talking to Robin.

“Where's Kim and Mary?!”

“I don't knooowww...”

“ _Then go find them_!”

“Hey, Boomer's on,” Butch said, pointing, and Bubbles gasped and twisted around to face the stage, practically dragging Buttercup around with her.

Boomer wasn't up with No Neck Joe, but by himself. As he walked on, he set his guitar case at the end of the stage and walked to the center, where the mike was set up. There were a couple of stools up there, but he opted to stand, and gave a little wave at the crowd. A couple of people _whoop_ ed for him and clapped. He laughed into the mike, his eyes settling on Bubbles. Under the lights, it was easy to tell when he was blushing.

“Um,” he started uneasily, then laughed again. “I don't know, I'm up here now and I don't really know what to say, for once. Uh, No Neck Joe will be up here soon, right now it's just me, and, um...” He ran a hand through his hair, down to his neck. “I guess I just wanted to do something kinda special. Hey, Bubbles, could you come up here?”

Everybody turned to stare at their table, and a ton of people _Ooh_ ed.

“Oh my God!” Bubbles exclaimed, hiding her face and giggling hysterically.

“Don't be shy!” Robin cried in the back.

A stunned Bubbles stood, grinning all the while as she made her way to the stage. Buttercup sat back with a relieved sigh, grateful to be rid of her for now.

“I've got the feeling something really fucking disgusting is about to happen up there,” Butch muttered.

“Probably,” Buttercup agreed.

Boomer was setting the two stools closer to the microphone as Bubbles approached him, and then he looked up.

“Oh, hold on, can you go back and get my guitar?” He pointed at the case at the edge of the stage that she had just walked past, and a few people laughed. She rolled her eyes theatrically and went back to grab it while Boomer went to the other end of the stage for something.

“Got it,” she said when she'd made it back to the mike.

He was still at the other end. “Oh, uh, open that up for me?”

More laughter. Bubbles shot the audience a look of annoyed disbelief—Buttercup could tell she was only half-playing. Boomer could've remembered to say please, but then again, he _was_ a boy.

Bubbles set the case flat on one of the stools and smirked as she opened it up. The second she did the smirk dropped right off her face, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. She reached in and lifted out a single red rose.

The crowd gasped, then _Awww_ ed.

“Oh my God,” Buttercup groaned.

“What did I tell you?” Butch said. “Super fucking disgusting.”

The crowd had their own varying opinions.

“That is so sweet!”

“Are you kidding?”

“I wish _my_ boyfriend would do that for me.”

“Get a room!”

Boomer, who had emerged from the other end of the stage with his acoustic slung over his shoulders, set the case down on the floor and beckoned Bubbles to sit. She did, her eyes dewy as she gazed at him. He started to say something, then paused, glancing at the audience. He then placed a hand over the mike and leaned over to whisper to her, inspiring a round of scattered catcalls and more mushy cooing.

Bubbles' eyes softened as he whispered to her, and she looked at him as he pulled back, turning the rose over and over in her hands. Boomer began to pluck out a melody on his guitar, then looked up and sang into the mike.

“Oh, are you kidding me?” Buttercup moaned, grimacing as she turned to Butch. “'Such Great Heights?' Seriously?”

“I am overwhelmed by my brother's epic pussiness right now,” Butch said flatly.

They lasted until Bubbles decided to join him in singing, and the sheer force of corniness projected them both outside.

“Those two, I swear to God,” Buttercup scoffed, shaking her head. Butch extracted a little pipe from his pocket, along with a lighter.

Buttercup stared as he lit up and said, “Where do you even _get_ this shit?”

“Around,” he said cryptically, and exhaled slowly into the air.

“Why do you do it?”

He shrugged. “Bored.”

“You do it back at... you know, work?”

“Sometimes. When we don't have a case.” He paused to think. “And sometimes when we do have a case, actually.” He eyed her. “You don't get bored?”

“Yeah, but... well, maybe not as often as you. As you did, I mean. I always had the boys to hang out with when I got sick of being at home.”

“The boys smoke too, fool!”

“I know,” Buttercup said, and shrugged. “I don't know, I just never liked the smell. Mitch stopped, for a while.”

“So you could enjoy kissing him?”

Buttercup shot Butch a death glare. “Watch it.”

He gave her a dry look. “Buttercup. Couples fucking _kiss_. I'm not a retard.”

“You're just all sorts of PC tonight, aren't you?”

“So is that why he stopped?”

Buttercup looked off into the distance and was silent.

“He started up again, then. At least for as long as I've known him. Does that bug you?”

“It doesn't bug me if anyone fucking smokes out, no.”

They stood out there in silence, then. Butch pocketed his pipe.

“You miss it?” he asked, and she looked at him. He flicked his lighter, again and again. “Bein' with someone, I mean.”

She looked away and stuffed her hands in her pockets, the bangles tinkling against each other.

“Buttercup!”

The two of them turned to find Bubbles—still glowing from Boomer's serenade—streaking outside.

“There you are! Come on, we're looking for you!”

“'We?' Who's, 'we?'” Buttercup asked, struggling as her sister dragged her back in.

“Everybody,” Bubbles responded, and as they came upon the atrium, Butch lagging behind, several people in the audience caught sight of them and cheered.

No Neck Joe was on stage, and Boomer crowed into the microphone, “ _There_ we go! Let's get her up here!”

“What?!” Buttercup cried.

“Give it up for the original lead singer of No Neck Joe—she needs a little encouragement, looks like—”

An indignant Butch sputtered, “Wait, you were in the _band_? How did I not know this?!”

“ _I'm not singing_!” Buttercup hissed at Bubbles, who was making a valiant effort to drag her sister on stage.

“Oh, you have a great voice, Buttercup—”

“ _I don't care_! _I'm not—_ ”

Butch's hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and he and Bubbles carried her on, dumping her in the spotlight in front of the microphone.

She glared up at them. “You guys are dead—”

In a streak of blue and green they were suddenly seated back at their table, grinning.

“Break a leg, Buttercup!”

“Alright!” Boomer said. “Let's do this!”

“No!” Buttercup shouted. “I'm not—”

Butch's chair clattered as he rose up and screamed, “Shut up and sing, unless you're some kind of pussy!”

Buttercup fumed as the encouraging crowd went silent, unsure of whether to laugh or applaud or maybe just duck and cover.

“You heard him, Buttercup,” Boomer said to her side. “If you don't sing, I guess that makes you a pussy.”

She glared at him, then glanced around at the twins—Floyd on guitar, Lloyd on the drums—and Mitch, bass at the ready. The twins twitched their lips nervously at her. Mitch just jerked his head in the direction of the microphone.

Uncertainty flickered across her face. Her eyes drifted back to the audience, where her gaze immediately locked on a sneering Butch. His expression soured hers, and she jerked the microphone off the stand. The audience exhaled and cheered.

“What am I singing?” she muttered to Boomer.

“You'll recognize it,” he said. “They tell me you've got a hell of a set of pipes.”

She grunted. It felt weird and almost nostalgic being back up here. The twins behind her, Mitch to her left. Boomer instead of Cameron to her right; that was the only change. That and the fact that she and Mitch weren't a couple anymore.

Lloyd set the tempo, and the boys launched into playing. Buttercup recognized it instantly; Cameron had written it. They'd practiced it over and over and had only gotten to perform it once...

There was a long intro meant to show off the lead guitarist, but there was something different about the way Boomer was playing it. After a couple of measures Buttercup's eyes widened in awed shock. He was actually _adding notes_ on top of the solo! Christ, what kind of speed was this guy on? She was so floored that she nearly missed her intro.

_Fuck, it's been ages since I've been up here_ , she thought to herself as she sang _._ She was surprised at how easily the lyrics came to her, and yet the exhilaration of performance was nowhere to be found. She felt uncomfortable, out of her element, like she didn't belong here.

_I don't_ , she thought to herself as she sang her way through the first verse. She didn't stumble over the words or the notes, she even tapped out the beat with her hand against her hip, but she felt nothing as she sang it. There was nothing. The revelation filled her with a strange sense of melancholy. She used to be so good. She used to love it up here, singing, performing with the guys—

_Just get this fucking over with already_ , she thought as she finished the chorus. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Boomer shooting a concerned look over the crowd; he could tell their enthusiasm had faded at Buttercup's lack of it. Whatever. This was his God damn fault, anyway, she was betting.

He stepped up and played his guitar like a motherfucker, doing that thing again where he was adding notes into Cameron's original solo, and the crowd perked up a bit. Some even cheered and whistled. Buttercup refrained from rolling her eyes.

_Fucking showoff_. He was trying to make up for her lack of energy. It wouldn't have bugged her _that_ much, except, judging from the crowd's reaction, it was working.

Her cue was coming up. She took an inhale to prep, but at the last second she saw him signal to the guys and instead of going into the next verse they re-started the fucking instrumental part, and Boomer began to ad-lib a variation on the part he'd just played.

Buttercup would've been impressed if she hadn't suddenly felt so very, very pissed off.

She glared at him from behind her curtain of hair (shit, she was letting it get long), wanting to rub that smug fucking grin off of his smug fucking face. The crowd was eating it up. And then the jackass had the nerve to wink at her as they finally went into the second verse—

She practically fired the words out of her mouth like a cannon, biting around every syllable, feeling every consonant. Boomer responded by improvising over the vocal melody.

_The fucker's trying to drown me out_! she realized, anger flaring up in her and leaking into her singing. She picked it up, let her tongue curl around the words, while Boomer played under the melody, over it, all around it...

When the refrain came she attacked it, and Boomer backed off, very slightly, into the background.

_That's right_ , she thought to herself with a smirk, and sang her fucking heart out.

***

“I'd forgotten how good she sounded!” Bubbles said, clapping her hands excitedly. “Don't you think, Butch?” When he didn't respond she turned to look at him. “Butch?”

He stared at the girl on stage as the band went into the bridge, and Boomer stepped up again, echoing each line Buttercup sang. Where only a minute ago his reluctant, sullen friend had stood up there, now there was no trace of her. She had settled back into the band, into the music, reveling in the delighted reaction of the crowd. He hadn't known her when she was in the band, and seeing her now...

The more comfortable she grew on stage, the more uncomfortable Butch grew watching her.

Bubbles asked, “Butch? What's wrong?”

“Great,” he said, his voice flat. “She sounds great.”

_***_

Buttercup wound up singing another two songs. She was a good performer and clearly loved being the center of attention. No Neck Joe closed the night, and the students finally dispersed.

“Holy shit, Buttercup,” Boomer laughed, shoving at her shoulder. “Color me impressed. The guys told me you were good. I had my doubts at the beginning, but—”

“Fuck off,” she said good-naturedly. “You went nuts on those solos, Jesus.”

“Yeee!” Bubbles was clambering onto the stage, and she ran up and threw her arms around the both of them. “You both were awesome! I love you! Both of you!”

“Now I know why you poured like a gallon of glitter in my hair,” Buttercup said.

“Hey, Buttercup.”

As Bubbles released her to fully glomp her boyfriend, Buttercup turned to Mitch. He gave her a small smile.

“It felt good, having you back up here.”

She wet her lips, bit them, then finally cracked a small smile of her own.

“Thanks.”

“Dude, yeah!” The twins jumped up to her side, Lloyd ribbing her with his sticks. “You _killed_ it!”

They laughed and joked around some more, and then Buttercup helped them clear their stuff off the stage.

_Like old times_ , she thought as she helped Lloyd carry his drums out. She halted upon seeing the giant, beat-to-shit clunker they were piling their stuff into.

“When'd you guys get a van?!”

“Just over the summer,” Floyd said as he passed by her. She blinked, then flew over to help pack.

“Is this your guys' van?” she asked the twins.

“It's Mitch's,” Lloyd said, and she stopped asking questions.

“Post-performance celebrating is in order,” Boomer announced as he came up, Bubbles on his arm. “Slurpee run?”

Buttercup declined, even after the twins protested vehemently. They finally relented and left in their car; Mitch's van was crowded and besides, one of the passenger doors didn't open. Boomer and Bubbles left not long after. Buttercup wondered where Butch had gone.

“Admiring the Death Trap?” Mitch asked as he emerged from the school, and Buttercup looked at him, then pointed to the van.

“That's what you call this Motherfucker?” It _was_ pretty beat up. Faded paint, dented doors, an ancient looking license plate on there that was from...

Buttercup blinked. “Montana?”

“Yeah. It's—or, well, it _was_ my dad's.”

“You got it this summer?”

“Yeah.”

“How'd you get it back?”

Mitch scratched his head. “I flew out, and then we both drove back in it at the end of my visit.”

Buttercup looked at it again, a little incredulous. “It made that trip?”

“Pft. Barely.” He scoffed when he said it, but Buttercup could tell from the possessive look in his eye that he loved it.

“And your dad flew back?”

“Yeah.”

She felt inexplicably, oddly hurt. “How long was he in town for?”

“Like three days.”

“You didn't introduce me,” she said, before she could stop herself. But they had always talked about her meeting his dad, even before they were together.

He stared at her. “I thought we were still... you know, not very cool with each other.”

She looked at the ground, unsure of who was in the right here.

“Buttercup, I thought about it. Actually, a lot. But I thought in the end that it'd just be weird and awkward.”

She scuffed at the cement with her shoe, those ridiculous bangles clattering on her arm. He was right. Of course it would've been weird and awkward. She wouldn't have known what to do, what to say. She didn't know what was going on in Mitch's life anymore, these days. But even so.

“I still would've liked to have met him.” She thumped back against the side of the van, leaning back and sighing. After a moment Mitch joined her. The metal popped, slightly, as he leaned against it.

“Sorry,” he muttered. They stood next to each other, not touching, not speaking.

“I called you like twenty times that night, you know,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“You never picked up.”

“I broke my phone.”

He laughed, a little bitterly. “Lame excuse.”

“No, I mean I snapped it in half,” she said, and mimed the motion with her hands. “I broke it. Me. On purpose.”

He thought about that. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry.” It had never been easy for Buttercup to apologize. It still wasn't.

He sighed. “Me, too.”

“Not just about the phone,” she continued, feeling numb all over. “About... everything.”

Mitch dug the toe of his shoe into the asphalt. “Me, too,” he finally said.

She thumped her head against the van and looked up at the stars. “I don't know.”

“Don't know what?”

Buttercup shook her head, closing her eyes as she hunched up her shoulders. “I just don't know. I don't fucking know anything.”

Mitch looked up too. “It sucks that it didn't... we didn't...” He trailed off, and Buttercup nodded.

“Yeah.” He was close enough to touch, close enough for her to lean her head on his shoulder if she wanted to. She wanted to, not as a girlfriend, just as a friend. But she didn't.

“Maybe we were just friends for too long, you know?” He was muttering now, his words a rambling mess as he tried to make sense of it. “Maybe that was why. Maybe I talked to the guys too much. Maybe I was too sensitive.”

“Maybe I needed to get over it,” Buttercup said.

“Maybe _I_ needed to get over it,” Mitch said.

It felt good to get this out. It felt good to talk to him, actually. But it also felt incredibly sad.

“It would've been nice,” he said. “It would've been nice if it had worked out.”

That was the worst part. Buttercup lowered her head, heavy under the weight of his statement. Her voice croaked when she spoke. She couldn't help it.

“Yeah.”

***

Butch had stayed behind, inside the school. None of the scant few chaperones had seen him; he'd been in the bathroom, staring past his reflection and counting tiles. After a while he went back to the atrium and sat on the stage. It was a pathetic excuse for a stage, really. Though it _was_ high school, so it couldn't be faulted for trying. Butch turned his pipe over and over in his hands and wondered what it felt like to be up there with lights on and people watching. He supposed he could go find Buttercup and ask, but he didn't feel like talking to her. She'd looked strange and unfamiliar after the performance. Something about the way she'd been acting around their friends—laughing, happy, comfortable—bugged him. He'd just felt very... far away.

Thinking about shit like this only frustrated Butch. He never knew what to do with thoughts like these. Except maybe punch something. But what the fuck was there to punch? Besides, the desire to do so wasn't there, for once. Even though he felt angry. Sort of.

Butch didn't know how to handle an anger that didn't want to explode into violence, and he didn't know how to talk to a Buttercup that sang in a band that she'd never even told him she'd been a part of. He also didn't know what that had to do with anything, but the thought was there, nonetheless.

He finally exhaled a long, slow breath, then stood up to leave. Boomer had said they were going out to get some slurpees or whatever, but Butch didn't feel like socializing, especially when he thought about sitting with “the band,” reminiscing about memories Butch had never been a part of. He leaned against the main doors and walked out into the warm night air, pausing when he saw Buttercup. She was standing alone at the curb, staring at either the buildings across the street or the asphalt; he couldn't tell which from this angle. The door caught her attention, and she turned.

They stared at each other for a second, then Butch said, “Hey.”

Her face was cloaked in shadow, so he couldn't read her expression. “Hey. I didn't know you were still here.”

“I didn't know _you_ were still here. Didn't you want to, you know... go out with the guys?”

She shook her head.

“Why?” he asked.

It was a long while before she answered. “I don't know.”

He couldn't see her face, but something about her seemed incredibly, achingly sad.

“Hey,” she said, her voice cutting through his concentration. “Do you... could I talk to you?”

***

When they got up to the roof of the school Buttercup asked him if he wanted to smoke a little pot—not because she wanted to, but just 'cause. Something about the way she asked made it sound like she wanted him to smoke, so he lit up and took a hit. She watched as he exhaled smoke into the air and sat on the roof, staring up at her. Buttercup didn't sit, nor did she look at him.

“I was talking with Mitch earlier,” she said quietly, and Butch abruptly decided he'd never really liked Mitch anyway. “Just... I dunno. His dad got him a van, and he didn't even tell me he was in town... I always wanted to meet his dad. Like... something about the way Mitch talked about him.”

“His parents split?” Butch asked.

“When he was real little, yeah. Before I knew him. Which I guess is before I was technically born, but... yeah.” She rubbed her arm, kicked at something invisible. “Anyway.” She played with the bangles on her arms and started pacing. “Like... I wish he'd told me. I mean, he gave me his dad's fucking jacket and everything.”

“Yeah?”

She looked up. “I didn't tell you?”

“Dude, you never told me anything about you and Mitch.”

“Oh.” His statement seemed to throw her off a bit. “Yeah. I guess not. But yeah, Mitch had this jacket that his dad gave him—this old leather thing, a bomber jacket—I think his dad was in a war somewhere, I don't know. But his dad gave it to Mitch, and then Mitch... gave it to me. On my birthday, after we got together.”

“When's your birthday?” Butch interjected.

“November. I didn't tell you that either?”

He shook his head as he took another hit.

“Oh.”

Buttercup went silent again. It seemed to take that pattern—she'd talk about memories in spurts, like someone holding their thumb over a hose as the water ran. Butch listened as she talked about the guys, about Mitch, about her and Mitch. She'd had a crush on him since they were ten. That made Butch think back, because he'd been here when he was ten, and he racked his memory for a clue that the girl he'd fought back then had shown the slightest hint that she was gradually falling in love. He couldn't think of anything.

She talked about nights out, about parties, about trying not to look at him too much at school or call him too much, because she hadn't known how to handle it. Hearing it all filled Butch with a strange emptiness, a regret that he hadn't been around and could only form vague pictures in his mind based on what she was telling him. The stories started to bleed into one another, although it might have been the drugs talking. But Butch was starting to grow tired of listening to her talk about a time he hadn't been around her, about all the fun shit she'd done with the guys that he hadn't experienced. He felt left out. Just like when she'd sung earlier that night.

Finally, after another spurt of dialogue had ended and silence had settled back in, Butch spoke up again.

“How did you two break up?”

He thought for a moment she wouldn't tell him; she blinked and looked at him for the first time since they'd gotten up here.

“You said it was something stupid,” he added.

She sighed and slumped as she started to pace again. “It was.”

“What kind of stupid something?”

“We just... we had a fight.” Buttercup ran a hand through her hair, and Butch saw specks of glitter catch the light as they fluttered to the ground. “We had this stupid fight—Mitch was leaving the next day for break, so we were supposed to be hanging out together, but the boys showed up, and I was... I was just always weird about, you know, people knowing we were a couple, us acting like one in public... Anyway, it really bugged Mitch that I was all... like, I didn't want to kiss him or hold hands and stuff in public. You know, I'm like the complete opposite of Bubbles when it comes to that. And... so, I guess I wanted to hang out with the guys and just not... I dunno, call attention to our coupleness. And Mitch didn't go for that, and he left early, and then we had this big fight. And that was it.”

She laughed a little, then looked up at him, her eyes filled with a false brightness, her smile strained.

“Stupid, right?”

Butch stared at her face, trying to smile, trying to make light of it.

“Yeah.”

His agreement seemed to relieve her; she turned then and continued pacing. “Tonight was the first night we really talked since, you know?” She paused. “He told me he called me, like, twenty times or something. I kinda... kinda wish he hadn't.”

“Do you wish you'd gotten back together?”

Butch didn't know why he said it. Obviously neither did Buttercup, judging from the way she looked up at him in surprise. Maybe it was the way she was talking about it, with this voice full to bursting with regret. Maybe it was how small her voice sounded, how uneasy and soft it was compared to her usual rough-edged way of speaking. Maybe it was her expression, her posture, soft instead of hard, slouched and defeated instead of thrown back and defiant.

Maybe it was just because when she mentioned Mitch's name there was something underneath it all, something that Butch and his limited empathic ability could just barely detect. She spoke of Mitch with such an unbearable aching, an endless litany of “shoulda, woulda, coulda's” that even Butch could sense it.

“No.”

The answer surprised him. “No?”

“I don't... I don't think we could've.”

Her clarification kinda bummed him out. “That's not what I asked.”

“It's still no.” She puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled, swinging her arms around so the bangles clanged up and down again. “I just... no. I really didn't like how weird it got to be around the rest of the guys. And...” She trailed off, and then didn't continue.

“What I do wish, though,” she said, after a pause, “is that I'd been more... comfortable about being with him. Because in the end, I really, really...”

Her eyes did this thing, then, this thing where they went so soft and became so distant that Butch thought for a second she might disappear somewhere else entirely. But maybe that was the drugs talking, too.

“I really liked him,” she finished, her voice quiet.

Butch thought for a vaguely panicked second that she might cry. But then she looked at him, and her eyes were dry as a fucking bone.

“And he said something tonight, something that just made it all seem so... I dunno. He said, 'It would've been nice if it'd worked out.' And even though I don't think we could've gotten back together, just...” She huffed, frustrated, trying to get the words out. “It just... it was like it totally closed off any chance we could've gotten back together, you know? 'It would've been nice.' Not 'It'd be nice if we could work out,' you know, something kinda open-ended to the possibility. So Mitch and I... Mitch knew it too. He didn't think we would've made it either.”

Butch had the faint sense that there was something flawed in her logic, that she was missing something crucial. But it felt true. Maybe it was due to the conviction in her voice as she said it.

“And for both of us to realize that... it just felt really sad. Even if it puts some kind of closure on it, you know? It just... doesn't make it any less sad. If anything, that almost makes it worse.” She threw up her hands then, randomly, almost angrily. “I don't know what the fuck I'm saying.”

“Me neither.”

She gave him a look. “Thanks, Butch.”

“You're welcome.”

After a long pause, she said it again. “Thanks, Butch.”

He didn't respond to this one. She jammed her hands into her pockets and paced in circles. Butch checked his cell for the time; it was nearly midnight.

“Why are you so... you know, affected by this?”

Her pacing slowed as she digested his words.

He went on. “I mean, you're fucking Buttercup. You're a fucking beast. Something like a breakup is like a drop in the bucket for someone like you.”

“You've never really wanted to be with someone, have you, Butch?” she said, a small, bitter laugh curling around her words.

“Your sister doesn't count?”

“No, I mean... damn it.” Buttercup ran a hand over her face, thinking furiously. “I mean... you know. You just know. You know, think of... think of fucking people. They're flimsy. Skin breaks, bones snap like toothpicks, you know, everybody out there besides us is like a fucking sitting duck, totally exposed and vulnerable. And we're better than that. We're more. At least... at least we're supposed to be. We're like walking with fucking armor on, you and me. We've got more than that, way more. I mean, this...”

And here she ran a hand uneasily over her chest, unable to say it.

“This... on us it's like it's wrapped in a titanium shell. It's practically untouchable. He never laid a hand on me, never broke skin or ever touched the muscle. You know... physically. He never fucking laid a hand on me. And it... just like that. Bang. That shell's there for nothing. I'm just as... I'm just like everyone else out there. A sitting duck. I don't feel superhuman. I just feel...” She wet her lips again, blinking several times as her eyes bore holes into the concrete.

“That was it,” she sighed, and Butch watched as she tipped her head back to look at the stars, her eyes still as dry as ever. “He just made none of that matter. I felt like nothing more than a regular fucking human being. Even before we got together. Even now.”

_Nothing more than human_. It reminded Butch of something else she'd said, way before. It didn't seem quite right, but he couldn't remember exactly what the words had been. He watched as she rolled her head back, sighing out the last traces of whatever remained to be said.

“Did you cry?”

It was too late; what had driven her to spill out her guts this evening was gone. Her face was already hardening into features more recognizable to him, her stance straightening, her voice rough and challenging, even as she said the one word.

“No.”

***

“I cannot _believe_ how irresponsible you two are,” Blossom sighed as they packed up for the shoot. “I mean, just because we're taking time off of school—which, I will remind you, we are still required to make up—does not give you both the license to run around hanging out with friends until the wee hours of the morning—”

“Oh, Blossom, calm down,” Bubbles soothed, looking bright and perky despite having rolled in at eleven the night before. Behind her, Buttercup yawned. “If you were lonely, you should've come out with us. I invited you and everything—”

“I was not 'lonely!'” Blossom cried. “I am concerned about how this will reflect on us! _Professionally_!”

“I don't get why we have to bring our own clothes,” Buttercup grumbled, grabbing some shirts and jeans at random and stuffing them into her bag. “Don't they have a wardrobe or something they want us to wear?”

“I did some reading online and when going to a photo shoot—”

“I thought this was an interview,” Buttercup interjected, her bleary eyes narrowed.

“Photo shoot- _slash_ -interview,” Blossom amended with a huff, “it is recommended to bring along a variety of outfits in order to respond well to the whims of the photographer. Also, that's what Brian told me over the phone.”

“Who the hell is Brian?”

“You better wash your mouth before we leave,” Blossom said darkly. “He's the MG staffer coordinating the shoot. Now are you done asking questions yet? We have to go!”

“I hope they have a wardrobe,” Bubbles said wistfully. “I'd love to model something totally new and different!”

“Girls!” The Professor beeped at them from the driveway. “Hurry up! We're going to be late!”

After some more frantic, heated rushing around, Blossom finally herded her sisters into the car and they were off to the rented studio space. Bubbles took out her camera and began fiddling with it.

Blossom glanced at her sister in the rearview and cleared her throat. “So when's the Art class coming by?”

“After lunch,” Bubbles muttered, loading a roll of film into her camera.

Blossom patted her knees and looked out the window. “Okay.”

As they drew closer to the location Blossom grew more and more nervous. They'd never done something like this before. What if she said something stupid? What if she _did_ something stupid? She prided herself on her maturity and professionalism, but this was their first time doing something like an interview for a nationally read teen magazine; it was different from a recap of yesterday's monster fight in the local Townsville paper...

“We're here,” the Professor suddenly announced, and Blossom swallowed as she stepped out of the car. Their father's face was serious as he helped them unload their stuff. “These photos they're taking... they'd better not be—”

“I don't think you have anything to worry about, Professor,” Blossom assured him. “It's a nationally distributed teen magazine, and they're all professionals. They wouldn't put us in anything... unsavory.”

“They better not,” both the Professor and Buttercup muttered.

_Professional_. Blossom kept saying that word, kept thinking it. This was a professional shoot, so there wouldn't be anything... weird going on. But what if she was wrong? What if they wanted to do something really... sexy? Or in swimsuits? Maybe swimsuits wouldn't be bad, but that was a lot of skin, and this was a widely circulated magazine, so if they put her in a swimsuit there'd be God knows how many people flipping it open to find Blossom in a—

She shook her head vigorously, trying to calm her nerves. _Stop it_! she thought to herself. _Stop being so nervous_!

“Girls! You're here early!”

The girls and their father looked up to find a chipper, casually dressed young man approaching them. Blossom recognized his voice from the phone.

“Are you Brian?”

“That's me. You want to follow me inside? Great to see you, by the way. We can't wait to get started.” As he led the way into the studio he mumbled something into a walkie talkie, then began conversing with a tense-looking Professor. “You've got nothing to worry about, sir. I know it can be a little nerve-wracking, it being the first time your girls have done this sort of thing, but we'll take care of...”

Blossom tuned them out as she and her sisters looked around, a little awed. There was a white backdrop set up in the center of the room, with lights flooding it and other white screen-like things surrounding them. A few people were back next to a camera hooked up to a laptop. They muttered amongst themselves while they tested the equipment.

“Oh my God this is so amazingly cool!” Bubbles squeaked in a rush, unable to contain her excitement.

“By the way, Blossom, thanks to you and your sisters for bringing your stuff, but it turns out we might not need it,” Brian said. “Our photographer has a very... specific vision. Here, let me show you where you can set it...” He led them past the group of people at the camera, who paused as the girls walked by. Blossom tried not to look anxious or make eye contact; she kept her face as neutral as possible and focused her gaze on the back of Brian's t-shirt as they strode past.

“The redhead's prettier in person—”

“Go tell wardrobe. We were going to make the blonde Queen Bee but let's switch to that one—”

All the anxiety that had collected in the pit of Blossom's stomach swelled into her chest, morphing into pride. She was nervous about absolutely nothing. They were going to have a great time.

Behind her, Buttercup scoffed.

***

There was a bus leaving the school for the shoot, but hell if Brick was getting on it. He'd told Miss Maybury he had an errand to run and would meet them at the studio. Now, as he approached his car, he saw something that definitely didn't belong there.

“Butch,” he said, staring his brother down in the passenger seat. “Get out.”

Butch hunkered down.

“You're not coming.”

“Brick.” Butch looked up at him, his expression solemn. “They are taking photos of Blossom. _Blossom_.”

“There are going to be a lot of people taking photos of her.”

“I swear to God I'll be good. I won't make any lusty moaning sounds, at least not any you can hear, and I will also refrain from touching her as much as I can—”

Brick kicked Butch out of his car. However, it didn't discourage Butch from accosting Brick at every stoplight on the way there—Brick put the top up on his convertible after the second light—and Butch only stopped after Brick punched him in the face and unintentionally (maybe) ran over him with his car.

The school bus had just arrived and was unloading when he got there. Julie saw him as he pulled up and waved.

“Hey! What took you so long? I thought for sure you'd get here before us.”

“Ran into some asshole on the road,” he said, collecting his digital SLR and some extra memory.

Julie and the other two kids in their group—Brick didn't care enough to know their names—waited for him, and they all filed in together.

_I wonder_ , Brick thought, and then stopped.

Everybody paused as they entered the space, dumbfounded as they stared at what appeared to be a Baroque period piece dress rehearsal.

“What the fucking fuck?” Brick whispered in disbelief.

“Oh, good,” Buttercup said, the giant white wig on her head bobbing. “An audience to share in my humiliation.”

“Hi, guys!” Bubbles beamed, the curls of her own white wig bouncing around her shoulders. She flapped her arms on the huge skirts of her dress and, unlike Buttercup, looked like she was actually enjoying herself.

Blossom remained silent in her ridiculous getup, but as her eyes caught on Brick's, she cringed. Evidently she was more in Buttercup's camp on this one.

A man who introduced himself as Brian in overly cheerful tones came up to Miss Maybury, and within a matter of minutes the groups of students were scattered around, as out of the way as possible. Brick passed by a dozing Professor in a chair off to the side. Blissfully, there were only thirteen students in the class, and with Bubbles up there that left only twelve to split into an even three groups of four.

“Prop fans! Where are the prop fans?”

“Oh, God,” Buttercup groaned. Brick's group was seated closest to her, and she made eye contact with him. “Brick. Shoot me. Put me out of my misery.”

“I kind of want to,” he said, eyeing their costumes with distaste. “Whose fucking idea was this?”

“Language,” Duchess Blossom reprimanded quietly.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” Brick said, and she colored.

“This photographer is such a douche,” Buttercup muttered under her breath. “His stupid vision is trying to show how extraordinary we are by putting us in these stupid-ass costumes from all these stupid-ass time periods—”

“Brick,” Blossom interrupted. “The article is about ordinary girls doing extraordinary things, and Dmitry—”

“Are you kidding me?” Brick said incredulously. “His name's _Dmitry_?”

“You have to admit, it sounds like a fashion photographer's name,” Julie said to their group mates.

“He's focusing on the extraordinary part,” Blossom finished.

“Yeah?” Brick said. “Well, this is extraordinarily stupid.”

“Are you a professional photographer, Brick?” she said loftily.

“No, but I know stupid when I see it.” He held up his camera and clicked. “And now I have a picture of it.”

Blossom fumed in silence. Dmitry, the photographer, appeared with an assistant brandishing prop fans, and handed one each to the girls.

“Oh my God, this is stupid,” Brick moaned, covering his face. He couldn't watch. He looked up again as Buttercup was handed hers, and she glared at the fan, apparently willing herself not to snap it in half and set it on fire. She looked up at Brick, then pointed surreptitiously at Dmitry with her fan.

_Douche_ , she mouthed. _Douuuuuuuchebaaaaaaag_.

Brick glanced at the guy, running around barking orders in a Gatsby, wool scarf, and peacoat, even though it was eighty God damn degrees outside and everyone else was in t-shirts and jeans.

“No kidding,” he muttered back at Buttercup. “He's got it written all over him.”

She leaned over conspiratorially. “You know this is the only costume we've been in? It took us nearly two fucking hours to get all this stupid shit on, plus makeup, and the guy hasn't taken a single fucking picture yet! We haven't even fucking eaten, and it's like two o'clock!”

“Two-thirty,” Bubbles sang over Blossom's head, flapping herself theatrically with her fan.

“What do you think about all this, Bubbles?” Brick called to her.

“I think playing dress-up is fun!” Bubbles said.

“Of course,” Brick and Buttercup said in unison, rolling their eyes. In the background, they could hear Brian beseeching the photographer.

“Look, Dmitry, we've really got to get some shots now or we're going to lose the deposit on these rental costumes. I mean, that's why we started with the Baroque shots in the first place, and these things aren't cheap—”

“You can't rush art!” Dmitry bellowed, and Brick wondered what European accent he was trying to fake, or if he just couldn't decide and was attempting to fake all of them at once.

He turned to his group. “This is stupid.”

They all looked uneasy, but Julie was the one brave enough to speak. “I mean... it _is_ a photo shoot. But... yeah, it's kinda stupid.”

“Well, we just gotta take some really nice pictures and do a layout mock-up,” one of the other guys said.

“Or maybe we just skip this stupid costume altogether,” Brick muttered. “What other costumes are on the agenda? Do we know?”

“Yeah, they handed me a list,” Julie said, unfolding it. “Uh... Eighties Flash Gordon, Aliens, Cavewoman—”

Brick held up a hand. “Stop. I need a moment to erase what you just said from my brain. _Forever_.”

He sat back as his group mates shrugged and snapped a couple of photos, their faces souring when they viewed them. What a waste of a field trip. Dmitry, meanwhile, after spending over an hour not taking any pictures, took one, and then called for costume change. Brian looked a little put out.

“One? You're just taking one?”

“One take! Like Hitchcock! Hitchcock was an artist! So is Dmitry!”

“Holy crap, he refers to himself in the third person,” Brick groaned.

“You know, that's going to make it really difficult for our layout guys... they need at least a few shots, just in case one turns out—”

“ _One shot_!”

“But—”

“ _ONE SHOT_!”

“Christ on a—fine, okay, let's go to costume.”

“You mean let's go to lunch, right?” Buttercup said as someone came up to help her out of her wig. “Because I'm starving.”

“Yes, lunch, but let's get you out of those costumes first—”

The girls flounced their way awkwardly back to wardrobe, and Brick would've outright laughed at the sight of Blossom waddling out with all the dignity she could muster if he hadn't felt such immense pity. He tipped his head back and thought of the other items on the list.

“We can't do our project like this.”

“We kinda have to, Brick.”

He looked at Julie. “Then I'll take a failing grade on this thing. I'm not fucking putting my name on it, Christ.”

“Dmitry is one of the premiere up-and-coming fashion photographers,” a strange voice suddenly said over them, and the kids looked up to find a severe, gray-haired man scrutinizing them. Brick in particular.

His tone felt a tad challenging. Brick stared levelly back. “I never would've guessed.”

Something about him seemed familiar. The man straightened and said, “Well, we are featuring the best student photos in the publication. See if you can do any better.”

“Can't give us shit and expect us to sculpt the freaking David,” Brick muttered under his breath, after the guy was out of earshot. He sighed and grabbed his camera.

“Where are you going?” Julie asked as he stood.

“I dragged this dumb thing along. Might as well use it.”

He wandered around, snapping the occasional furtive photo. Bubbles re-emerged, in more regular clothes and with a sandwich in her hand from craft services, to shake her father awake. Her sisters followed soon after. Buttercup made an immediate run for her MP3 player and jammed her headphones squarely on. Blossom pulled a book out and took a seat, nibbling daintily on her own sandwich.

“This is totally unusable,” one of the folks at the laptop groaned, and Brick paused, catching sight of the screen.

“He only wanted to take one,” Brian argued.

“This is ridiculous, we can't—”

Brick moved on, snapping a photo of the empty backdrop with all the lights on it, of Bubbles dragging the Professor to the craft services table, of the book Blossom was reading—

“What are you doing?” Blossom asked disdainfully, and he lowered his camera.

“What's it look like?” he retorted. “I'm taking pictures.”

“Excuse me, I'm eating,” she sniffed.

He responded by setting the flash off in her face.

“Very mature, Brick!”

He waved her off as he passed, scanning back through his photos. He paused, then scanned back to the ones he'd just clicked of Blossom. She had been seated near the backdrop, so the lights were around, but instead of keying on her face, here they ghosted just behind her hair, creating a light, halo-ish effect. She dangled her sandwich in one hand, the other clasping her book open. Her eyes were far away, focused on the words she was reading...

_Ordinary girls_.

Brick turned around and crept up behind her, ignoring the urge to brush her hair away from her face.

“Blossom,” he whispered, and she jumped, turned—

He snapped another photo.

“What the— _Brick_! I told you to get that out of my face!”

He snapped another photo of her livid expression before hightailing it back to his group.

“You sure like to bug her,” Julie observed, and Brick ignored her.

“I have an idea,” he said, and scrolled back through the few photos he'd snapped of Blossom. “This stupid article is all about girls—ordinary girls—doing extraordinary shit, right?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, this pretentious moron is putting them in stupid, 'extraordinary' costumes. Why don't we go the total opposite and do a mock-up around ordinary shots?”

His group members blinked at him.

He passed over his camera. “Here, you idiots.”

They held the camera between them and clicked through Blossom's photos. Julie's eyes clouded over, and she turned to pick hers up, then, after positioning herself, snapped a photo of Buttercup, eyes closed and head tipped back as she sang along with her music, one hand resting against a headphone.

“I like it,” Julie said after examining her shot.

“Dude, I dig it too.” Guy One and Guy Two agreed. “Let's do it.”

The four of them split up to snap photos of the girls as they took their break. Blossom got so irritated with Brick hanging around her that he reluctantly asked Julie to take over for awhile.

“She doesn't make it easy,” he muttered to Julie.

“Consider the source of her frustration,” Julie said, and Brick just huffed and went to go snap pictures of Bubbles. She herself was snapping shots with the traditional SLR she'd borrowed from class. Brick wasn't sure exactly what she was up to, since she seemed to be zooming in for extreme close-ups of whatever she was shooting.

“You guys are really going nuts with the photos,” she remarked as she looked at Brick and he snapped another.

“That right?” he asked.

“Yeah. You're kinda freaking out the other two groups,” she said. “I mean, since you're not waiting for the costume change.”

“Well, we're doing something different,” he muttered. The Professor was still nearby, and he got a hunted look in his eyes as Brick clicked the shutter over and over.

“You better not be taking pictures of her to put on pictures of naked ladies later,” he growled, and Brick looked up and blinked.

“Oh, Professor,” Bubbles said, giggling. “Brick's not interested in me _or_ in naked ladies.”

Professor Utonium seemed to quiet down a bit. Nevertheless, Brick took that as a cue to leave her be for awhile. He wandered back over to their area, and soon after the girls were called into costume again. Buttercup mimed slitting her wrists at Brick as they disappeared.

They sat through another excruciating session, one where Brick considered snapping a photo of their ridiculous eighties-styled hair for blackmailing purposes later. Unlike the other two groups, Brick's didn't take a single picture the entire time the girls were in costume. Well, that was a lie. Brick took one. After a protracted buildup to what everyone assumed was going to be Dmitry's one shot for this costume, he suddenly changed his mind and had a fit. As he flailed about the studio screaming with Brian tearing out his hair after him, Brick saw Blossom slump over and sink to her knees with a groan.

The act was so un-poised, so un-Blossom, so undeniably human that he snapped a photo without thinking about it. Blossom saw the flash of his camera go off and glared at him.

“I hope you're enjoying this.”

He said nothing. Actually, of the girls, Bubbles seemed to be the only one having a blast. While they were waiting for Dmitry to calm down, she grabbed her own camera and went right on snapping photos. Brick suddenly noticed that near her stuff she had a shitload of little film canisters...

An eternity later Dmitry snapped his shot, everybody sighed in relief, and then the girls were herded back for another costume change.

Julie leaned over. “Brick, can I see the photo you snapped earlier? Of Blossom in costume?”

He scrolled back and held his camera out to her.

“I think this will work, too,” she said after studying it for awhile. “I mean, I don't know how many more non-costumed shots we're going to get. Maybe showing them as ordinary girls uncomfortable with false, um, extraordinariness has some promise. If... that makes sense.”

Brick guessed the look on his face wasn't a very good indicator of his actual mood; Julie clamped her mouth shut and passed his camera back to him. In reality, he thought it was a pretty good idea. Plus, if it turned out to not work, they could always delete the pictures anyway. Julie and another of the guys went off to see if they could snap some test photos of the girls in makeup—Brick was sure Buttercup would have some fantastic expressions for them. He grunted at the other guy, then turned to find the gray-haired man from earlier scanning through the pictures on Brick's camera.

He started to ask what the hell the guy was doing when that tiny jolt of recognition shot through him and held him back. He should know this guy. Who was he?

_Evidently the type of guy you don't get after for going through your shit_ , he thought to himself. Was the guy looking at every single photo Brick had taken? He was spending an awful lot of time on some...

The man suddenly looked up at Brick. “These are yours?”

“Yes, sir.” Brick wasn't sure where the formality came from. Instinct had pushed the words out of his mouth.

“Brian,” the guy said, snapping and waving Brian over. “Get that asshat Dmitry out of here.” He thrust his thumb in Brick's direction as he turned and walked away. “I want this kid behind the camera.”

***

Blossom heard the slight commotion outside; apparently something was going on. After Brian came into makeup and told them to wash off the cavewoman makeup from the girls (“Thank _God_ ,” Buttercup praised), she figured something was definitely up.

“Girls, put on something normal. Solid colors. Jeans are fine,” Brian told them, before disappearing.

“Aww,” Bubbles pouted. “No loincloth bikinis?”

“Words I should never hear put together again,” Buttercup announced as she propelled herself out of her seat and back to change.

After changing into regular t-shirts and jeans, followed by another quick stint in makeup, the girls made their way out. Blossom wondered what on Earth was going on...

She halted when she saw Brick pacing uneasily behind the people at the laptop, and then Brian came up and asked him how he wanted to set up the lights.

“Let's get the girls under them first and then we'll see,” Brick said.

“What's going on?” Blossom blurted, and the entire room glanced up at her, Brick included. She thought she heard some dim screaming outside of the building that sounded like Dmitry. Brick looked away as the realization hit Bubbles, who squealed.

“Omigosh! Brick! Are they letting you take pictures?! I wanna see, I wanna see!” She dashed over there to the laptop, where the staffers were scrolling through Brick's photos. Her eyes softened as she tabbed through them. “Oh, Brick,” she sighed. “These are _gorgeous_. I love this one you took of Blossom, here—”

Blossom tensed as Brick shot Bubbles a sharp look. She stalked over, Buttercup lazily following behind.

“What are you talking about?” she muttered as she crossed her arms and glared at the screen. As Bubbles scrolled through them for her, the harshness in her expression faded.

_They're pretty good_ , she thought to herself. Even the ones where she was clearly angry and screaming at the camera were good. It didn't occur to Blossom to ask why he'd taken so many of her.

The girls were ushered under the lights, and after some thought Brick took down a couple and set some screens up over the others to diffuse their light.

“Is this it?” Bubbles asked as the girls stood in front of the backdrop, unadorned.

“Yeah,” Brick said quietly. Behind him, Miss Maybury was beside herself with pride and yammering on incessantly to the Professor, who looked as if his ears had tired of the chatter about two years back. Brick stared at the girls for a bit, causing Blossom to shift uncomfortably. Finally he asked them what kind of pose they struck for the papers, then snapped a few of those. He seemed a little bit at a loss after that, even though the crew liked them.

Julie came up to him, and Blossom watched as she stood on her tiptoes and whispered quietly to Brick, “Try doing Bubbles by herself first.” Blossom's gaze was riveted to the way Julie's hand touched Brick's arm, how her fingers curved around the muscle. He let her touch him. Blossom hadn't realized how close they'd gotten.

He took her suggestion. After Julie asked a perplexed Bubbles about puppies, the girl lit up and launched into a rambling dissertation about how much she loved them, resplendent with wide, expressive gestures.

“That was a great idea,” Brick permitted as he snapped some photos. He then asked Bubbles to pick up her camera, and she willingly complied, snapping her own photos as Brick's camera went off. Her playfulness with the “prop” inspired a round of impressed murmurs from the crowd. The rest of the Art class took pictures, too, encouraged by Bubbles' brightness.

Buttercup was up next. Julie had clearly been hoping putting Bubbles up there first would loosen up the other girls, but with Buttercup it backfired.

“I don't like having my picture taken,” she explained gruffly.

“Buttercup, Mitch took, like, a zillion of you when you were together,” Bubbles reminded. In the back, a strangled cry escaped the Professor's throat.

“ _I didn't like it then, either_ ,” Buttercup snarled. Brick managed to snap a photo of her irritated expression at her sister, then had a moment of inspiration.

“Don't be scared, Buttercup,” he said simply, and the girl whirled on him.

“ _Excuse me_?” she snapped, and Brick went crazy with the photos. Another moment of genius hit.

“Care to tell me an embarrassing story about Blossom?”

Buttercup's eyes widened with glee at the opportunity while a panicked Blossom squeaked, “ _What_?”

“Tell him the hair one!” Bubbles exclaimed.

“ _Bubbles_!”

“Dude, okay, okay,” Buttercup started. “So we're, like, five years old—”

Blossom protested so vehemently it was hard to hear Buttercup, but she was telling the story with such exaggerated motions, often causing herself to burst into laughter, that it didn't matter so long as they got the pictures. Buttercup's came out even better than Bubbles'. They finally stopped when Buttercup, fueled by the twisted pleasure she got out of sharing her sister's shame, launched into another story, one when they were older, and Blossom dashed over into frame, struggling to shut her sister up.

“ _That's enough_!” she shouted hysterically, face flushed.

They figured that was as good a chance as any to get Blossom up there. Again, she wasn't nearly as comfortable as Bubbles, and the story of how her sisters had chopped off all her pretty long hair probably hadn't helped.

“I'm having trouble picturing you half-bald, Blossom,” Brick said.

“Don't worry,” Buttercup cut in before Blossom could respond. “We have pictures.”

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Blossom warned frantically.

Unlike with Bubbles and Buttercup, the moment of inspiration did not come readily to Brick, and Blossom, too, looked out of her element. She had no idea what to do, neither did he, and it obviously irritated the both of them to no end.

_What can I say to get her going_? He wasn't used to talking with her, unless it was arguing about something. But—and he was being objective about this—while she looked just as pretty when she was angry, it would be doing the loveliness of her face a huge disservice to put it in a magazine locked in an expression of anger.

“Brick?” Brian asked, after he'd stood there for some time.

“Thinking,” he responded automatically, staring at the miniature image of Blossom in the viewfinder so he wouldn't make eye contact with her directly. She fidgeted under those lights. She was so naturally pretty. What to do? If she looked more comfortable these pictures would be fantastic. She wouldn't even have to do anything, or say anything, she just had to stop looking so tense...

Suddenly it hit him. Duh. The answer was so obvious.

“Blossom,” Brick said, his voice oddly charged, determined. “You should dance.”

Silence settled over the room.

“E-excuse me?” she said uneasily.

“Buttercup, let her borrow your MP3 player,” Brick said, still staring at the viewfinder. “Blossom, just pretend it's dance class. Or you're practicing on your own.”

She looked around at the room, all eyes darting between her and Brick. She looked even more nervous, which Brick thought was ridiculous. She danced in front of people all the time.

“It's a small space, Brick,” she said, making excuses as she indicated the photo area.

“Oh, if you're going to let that stop you, feel free,” he challenged, and five minutes and a hundred glares later, Blossom had settled her sister's headphones on and had her eyes closed as she listened. Even just the act of closing her eyes helped; within minutes the tension in her face and posture waned. Brick started snapping photos then. Then she started to dance, and as soon as Brick realized he couldn't seem to stop, he turned to Julie.

“Why don't, uh, why don't you have a turn?”

Julie's shock didn't temper her excitement, and as she bounded up Brick looked around and said, “Actually, why don't the rest of you guys have a turn at the camera?”

The Art class all exchanged looks, then leaped at the opportunity. As Brick walked back to his stuff, he passed a delighted Miss Maybury, who thanked him profusely. He sat next to Buttercup. Bubbles was off taking pictures of the room with her camera.

“She looks like she's zooming in crazy close on everything,” Brick observed.

“Yeah? I dunno.” Buttercup shifted, and nodded at the laptop. “I saw your pictures.”

“Yeah?”

“They look good. I mean, I don't know anything about art, or photography. But I think you take really good pictures.”

He nodded, and picked up his own SLR. “Thanks.” After a moment, he turned and snapped a photo of Buttercup. She smirked at him as he took another.

“What are these for?”

He shrugged. “Dunno.” Maybe for posterity's sake. He took more of the room, more of the crowd. The Professor made it into a few, as did Julie and his fellow classmates and Bubbles. Blossom made it into all the rest. Eventually he went back to the area where the pro camera was set up, his own still in hand. Blossom was slowing down, and she unclipped the player and removed the headphones, setting them aside.

“Sorry, her metal playlist started up,” Blossom explained, with the little glow lighting her face that she got after every dance, every performance. Brick made sure to take a picture. “Kinda hard to dance to.” The crew looked like they had way more than they needed of Blossom; they sounded very pleased. Brick spoke before they could move on.

“So why did you start dancing?” he asked, his voice ringing loud and clear above the chatter. She looked up in mild surprise, and Brick snapped photos of her expression.

“I just... I guess the Professor took us to see a ballet, when we were little, and the dancers looked so pretty and graceful that I wanted to be like them.”

“And what about the hip hop?” he asked, still staring at her through his camera. She laughed, a little embarrassed.

“That was a few years ago. I got into it because I was trying to get more inner-city kids off the streets. Also, it was just so different from ballet and tap and all that other stuff that it was kinda like a new challenge, you know? Felt like personal growth to take that on, and make a difference, too.”

“Did you make a difference?”

When she looked at him, she looked right at the camera, her expression soft and lovely and so mindnumbingly gorgeous the sigh Brick expelled internally manifested in the room as a collective sigh from the whole group.

“I hope so,” she said quietly.

They wrapped up the shoot with a few group shots of the girls, Bubbles constantly clambering over her sisters and squeezing them close, despite Buttercup's protests. They actually made for better shots. The class began to pack their stuff as the girls were hauled off to clean up. Brick lingered, scanning the room as he slyly pocketed the memory card from his camera.

“Brick.”

He turned to find the gray-haired man standing off in a dark corner with Brian, beckoning him over. Brick set down his camera and walked over.

The gray-haired man was speaking before Brick had even reached them. “I want those photos you took of Blossom.”

“You have those photos I took of her,” Brick said instantly. “Let's discuss my compensation.”

“I don't mean those dancing photos, I mean those regular ones, when she and you were just talking,” the man went on.

“I think I'll hang onto those. Let's discuss my compensation.”

“Those are the photos I want to put in the magazine. Give them to me.”

“What are you paying me?” Brick said, his voice a near-growl.

“How old are you?” the man said, his lip curling. “Sixteen? Seventeen? You're not even a professional photographer.”

“And yet you threw out your so-called 'professional photographer' to have me do the shoot instead. Seventeen, by the way. How much did you pay _him_ to prance around and come up with an idiotic vision and take only one picture?”

Brian finally interjected, a little nervously. “That's, um, confidential.”

“He's an artist with a vision, right?” Brick said. “I imagine his fee is pretty steep to match that enormous ego. I want ninety percent of that.”

“'Ninety percent?!'” Brian cried.

“I gave you five times the photos in half the time it would've taken to do a whole session with that tool,” Brick explained. “And on short notice. And by special request. Ninety percent's actually undercharging you, if you ask me.”

The gray-haired man was still hard, scrutinizing him. “I want those pictures.”

“Then it's _definitely_ ninety percent,” Brick said, his hand going to the pocket that held his precious memory card, loaded with pictures of the most beautiful girl on the planet.

“Fifty percent,” the gray-haired man said.

Brick scoffed. “You're kidding, right?”

The man suddenly switched gears. “What credit do you want on the photos in the magazine? Should we just call you Brick?” The question caught Brick off guard, and he stared at the man, contemplating. Not his real name; he didn't want to attract attention. He needed something generic, something anonymous, something...

“John Smith,” he said quietly, and there was a shift in the man's eyes.

“Is that so.”

He still couldn't recall the exact time or exact circumstances, or even whether he'd actually been a client or just a potential one. But Brick thought he'd recognized him from somewhere.

“Sixty percent,” the man said. “I can't go any higher than that.”

“Try seventy,” Brick suggested, his hand already pulling out the memory card.

“Beautiful.” The man shook Brick's hand. “Brian, write him a check.”

Brick smirked as he loaded the photos up onto their laptop (“I'm keeping the originals,” he told them, holding up the memory card). When no one was around the gray-haired man found him again and slipped him his payment, plus a simple card with only his first name and phone number on it.

“You guys and your single title names,” Brick murmured as he read _Joseph_ off the crisp white card.

“One name is often all you need,” Joseph said. Then, pointedly, “Brick.”

Brick smiled as he pocketed the card, then tugged out his phone. Joseph was already off, wandering amidst the crew as they were striking the set. Brick thought for a moment of the person who had arranged the cameras for the Art class, arranged the whole field trip in the first place. He flipped open his phone and dialed. The line picked up after the first ring.

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Morbucks,” Brick said, his eyes tracing the silver imprint of Joseph's name and phone number on the card. “Thank you.”

He could practically hear her smirking into the phone. “You're welcome, Brick.”

***

Blossom was grinning as she buttoned up her top, enjoying the reflection of her smile, her hair, her whole body, actually. She'd seen the photos, and then had felt ridiculously pretty.

“He's really talented, isn't he?” Bubbles said conversationally.

“Looks, brains, talent,” Buttercup said, nodding. Her eyes glazed over. “Plus a chest that you want to... throw rocks at just so you can watch them bounce off.”

Bubbles shot her sister a look. “Buttercup, you... you're kinda weird.”

“Too bad he's such a prick, right Blossom?” Buttercup went on.

“Huh? Oh, yes. He's... insufferable.”

“Guess that's just how it works with the pretty ones,” Buttercup sighed, shouldering her bag. “Hey, come on. You guys ready or not?” Her sisters followed her out the door and back into the main studio, where their father was waiting.

“Your friends said they were going out to grab some dinner,” he said, yawning. “Did you want to join them? We've just got leftovers at home.”

“That sounds awesome!” Bubbles exclaimed. “I mean, if it's okay with you, Professor.”

“It's fine with me,” he said, yawning again. His girls stared at him.

“You should get to sleep, Professor,” Buttercup said. “You've been tired all day.”

“Yeah, I'm probably not conscious enough to drive,” he agreed, then surprised them all by handing Buttercup the keys. “You wanna drive home, sweetie?”

Buttercup gaped. “You—are you serious?”

“I'm not conscious enough to believe this is a bad idea,” he said with a laugh. “Drop me off at home and then you girls can go have dinner with your friends.”

Buttercup threw her arms around their father, then dashed outside, shouting, “Thank you, Professor!” over her shoulder.

Bubbles followed in a more subdued manner, taking her father by the hand. Blossom was reaching for his other when Brian's voice suddenly interrupted.

“Blossom!”

She turned. “Yes?”

“Could we have a word?”

Blossom looked after the Professor and Bubbles, who had turned and were waiting for her. She took in the circles under his eyes and the tired lines of his face.

“You guys go ahead, I'll meet you at the restaurant.”

“I'll text you the place when I find out,” Bubbles called back. Blossom floated over to Brian and a gray-haired man that she didn't remember seeing earlier in the day. Brian suddenly looked a little uncomfortable.

“Oh... is your father coming?”

“He's really tired,” she said. “What did you want to discuss?”

Now Brian definitely looked uncomfortable. “Oh, I think we should—”

“Just tell the girl,” the older man interrupted. “She seems responsible, and adult enough to make her own decisions.” Blossom swelled with pride at the compliment.

“Not to sound cocky or anything, but I do get that a lot,” she said.

Brian cleared his throat and said, “Well, Blossom, the thing is... you're a very, very pretty girl.”

“Thank you,” she said sheepishly, coloring.

“I mean, all of us thought so today,” he went on, indicating the empty area where the crew had once been. “You really caught us off guard.”

“Very striking,” the other man cut in. Blossom practically glowed; just a minute ago she had been staring at her reflection feeling beautiful, and now here she was _hearing it_ from other people!

“So we'd like to ask... have you ever, you know... thought of doing this professionally?”

She stared at them, her jaw dropping. “Are—are you serious? You mean modeling?” She shook her head in disbelief. “No, I've never given any thought to it at all!”

“Well, you should,” the man said. “You need to get a little more comfortable in front of the camera, but once you do you'll be quite popular. Now, we wanted to talk to you about photographing you for another publication of ours—”

“ _But_ since you are still underage, we need your legal guardian present,” Brian interjected, his voice a little frantic. His boss—Blossom assumed he was Brian's boss, the way Brian kept deferring to him—waved him off.

“You heard her yourself. She's a responsible young lady who can make her own decisions.”

“Um, sir, I know, but there's the whole potential for legal ramifications if we don't—”

Blossom interrupted, a little confused, but still aglow from the proposition. “Um, if you don't mind, what magazine is this for?”

Brian looked exceptionally nervous then, but the man, obstinate in his stoicism, said to him, “Show her. We have a copy.”

He might as well have asked a child to club a kitten, the way Brian so reluctantly turned to rummage in their things for it. When he found it he handed it to Blossom upside down. There was a bottle of vodka being advertised on the back; this definitely wasn't Modern Girl. Blossom gave him a warm smile to try and dispel his nervousness, then turned it over. Her smile faltered.

After a pause, Brian explained, “See, we do these annual specials, you know...”

His voice became dim background noise in Blossom's head as she took in the cover. There was a celebrity on it, a very pretty woman she didn't recognize, but pretty or no, her face was barely present. She was sitting on a stool in what appeared to be a shirt made of tissue paper; it was so transparent. Her arms were crossing over her chest as her hands hugged her shoulders, simultaneously covering and accentuating her breasts. The shirt was long enough to drape along her thighs, on either side of her crossed legs, and still she was exposing a lot of skin. Blossom assumed she was wearing underwear, but maybe that was too much to hope for. And then there was the copy. Most of it was harmless: about sports articles, political articles, the like. Emblazoned in the lower right corner in bright red text, however, were the words _Bedroom Tips: She'll Make Noises You've Never Even Heard Before_.

FHN. Blossom had seen this magazine before, had huffed at it on display in convenience stores and newspaper stands. It always featured some scantily clad woman with an unrealistic body and sometimes inhuman breasts. Magazines like this insulted her as a girl, she always thought. Those women on the cover, if they had any brains about them, shouldn't offer themselves up like this. Women with brains knew better. Blossom had always prided herself on being the smart one. And here she was, being asked to pose in FHN.

She realized she'd never flipped through the magazine. That was just the cover. She began to riffle through it—her hands shook a little as she did so, and she felt oddly numb. Brian was continuing to speak, and she took in a little of what he was saying now.

“So, you know, when you're of age, we'd like you to consider being a part of our annual 'Newly Legal,' section,” (she could hear him cringing as he said it) “and doing a very small interview with us and a couple of photos...”

Blossom closed the magazine, disappointed. There seemed to be some decent articles in there, but every woman that had been photographed looked like some vapid, thoughtless drone. The photos didn't draw attention to the face, unless there was a closeup on her blindingly red and glossy lips, with a hint of tongue and teeth nudging suggestively at the corner. There was skin and breasts and thighs and arching backs and searching hands, but she couldn't remember what any of the women looked like, _really_ looked like. She felt numb. Sad. Disappointed. Worse yet, she felt violated and exposed. She was now acutely aware of the little patch of skin she was revealing, just above her chest (she should've buttoned it all the way up), and to know that these two—these two men, older men—had looked at her and thought, _Yes, she should pose for us in FHN_ , made her wonder what was the use of being pretty, of feeling pretty, if all anybody ever wanted was to get you as close to naked as possible?

She remembered how pretty she had felt in the dressing room, how proud she'd been, and now she just felt stupid. Blossom swallowed and handed the magazine back to Brian, not looking at him or his boss.

“I'm sorry,” she croaked, and she wished she wouldn't croak. She wished her voice was more steady and commanding and not at all meek and so obviously feminine. The corners of her lips were shaking as she tried to crack a smile.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, still croaking. “I don't really think this is for me.”

***

_I should've hit them_.

Blossom inwardly cursed herself for reacting in such a... such a victimized, little girly way. She should've hit them. She was a crimefighter, and a superhero to boot! She was _supposed_ to react to things like this with violence!

_I should've hit them_ , she thought again, but that only made the regret stronger. She tried it out loud.

“I should've hit them,” she muttered, then, a hiss, “I should've _hit_ them.”

It didn't help much.

She was flying to the restaurant Bubbles had texted her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her blouse buttoned all the way up. It wasn't a cold night, but it made her feel better.

_I should've asked Bubbles and Buttercup to stay_. If they'd been around Blossom might have reacted more, or reacted, period. Her sisters being around made the need to act a leader, to be a leader, more present. Without anyone on her side there...

_I should've asked the Professor to stay_ , she thought miserably, then immediately felt guilty as she recalled how tired he'd looked. No. She shouldn't have done that. She was only making excuses for her own ineptitude to handle the situation. It didn't matter that her sisters or her father hadn't been there. They couldn't have known, and besides, as much of a family and a team they were, Blossom couldn't expect them to be around forever. She was supposed to be mature. She was supposed to be confident, so confident that when asked to pose for FHN she should've reacted with indignant anger, not submissive embarrassment.

She arrived at the restaurant, finally, then spent a moment of confusion by the hostess' podium seeking out her sisters. Bubbles spotted her and waved her over; she and Buttercup were in a booth with the Rowdyruff Boys and Julie. There were more of Bubbles' classmates seated at tables nearby.

Blossom quickly maneuvered her way over, trying not to attract any attention. It felt like everyone's eyes were on her, like every table was looking at her as she passed. Usually it made her feel important. Usually she liked it when she entered a room and the room parted for her. But tonight she just felt like a naked girl sitting in the spotlight with everyone's eyes on her, without the luxury of a tissue paper blouse to cover herself up.

***

When Blossom arrived Brick had just discreetly offered to buy Julie a dessert. She had come up with the idea to put Bubbles up there alone, after all, and if that hadn't happened Brick would've stood up there looking like an idiot for ages. He didn't say this to her, of course. He only offered, and kept his reasoning secret.

Blossom's appearance made him glad for his timing; he would've felt weird if she'd seen him buying Julie a dessert. He realized a little late that he had no reason to feel weird, and he became so upset with himself that he almost made a point of saying out loud that he was going to buy Julie a slice of cheesecake, and who the hell cared who heard or knew?

The announcement was already building in his throat, and then he saw Blossom and he stopped. She looked... different. Upset? She smiled as she arrived, spent a fraction of a moment studying the open ends of the booth—Brick was on one side, and Boomer on the other—and opted to sit next to Boomer.

Brick felt inexplicably angry at her choice until Bubbles leaned over his brother to greet her, and he realized Blossom was just trying to be near her sister. Julie was on Brick's other side, followed by Butch, Buttercup, and then Bubbles.

“What kept you?” the blonde asked. “What did they want?”

“Oh, just... they were just thanking me for our time,” Blossom said, that smile—that strange, trying-too-hard smile—on her face. Brick tried not to stare. He made small talk with Julie and listened to Buttercup and Bubbles tell the Boys about adventures from their younger years, which often turned out to be less adventurous and more of an effort to embarrass each other than anything else.

“This girl has such an evil streak,” Bubbles said, leaning on Buttercup's shoulder. “When she was a kid, she accidentally knocked out one of my teeth,” (and here Bubbles tongued her front tooth to further illustrate her point) “and then, after our dad told us about the Tooth Fairy giving money for teeth, she tried to knock out _another_ one!”

“I was a very enterprising young lady,” Buttercup explained smoothly.

“Not _only_ that, but after the Professor said she couldn't do that, she went around knocking out _villains_ ' teeth and made, like, thousands of dollars!”

Butch was staring at his friend in awe. “Dude. You are _so_ on the wrong team.”

“Hey, I was going after bad guys,” she said defensively.

“Not at first,” Brick interjected. “You went after your sisters, and all in the interest of personal gain. Butch has a point, for once: you've got the makings of an evil mastermind in you.”

Buttercup eyed him over her drink. “You're weirding me out with this 'evil mastermind' talk.”

“Go check and see if Mojo runs an internship program. You could really hone your skills there.”

“Now I don't know if you're joking or actually being serious,” she said dubiously.

Boomer leaned against Bubbles. “Say, 'tooth,' again, except like you're actually missing your front tooth.”

She thrust her chin in his direction and stuck her tongue between her teeth. “Toof.”

“Holy crap, you're adorable,” Boomer sighed.

“Holy crap, you're disgusting,” Butch and Buttercup said in unison, making gagging faces as their siblings touched foreheads, lost in their own little world. Brick's gaze drifted to Blossom, who had both hands wrapped around her water glass as she waited for her food. She was staring at the table as she sipped, apart from the conversation.

“She brought a whale into our house once,” Buttercup said, indicating Bubbles with her soda.

“How on Earth did you fit a whale in there?” Julie asked.

“Creatively,” Buttercup answered.

“I was trying to save him! Also, I was five. Besides, Blossom's the one who tried to hide him in the living room.”

“Oh yeah, a great idea from the resident supergenius,” Buttercup cackled.

When their leader didn't respond, Bubbles leaned over and nudged her. Blossom looked up.

“Huh?”

“The whale that you tried to hide in the living room,” Bubbles explained. “Remember? One of your better ideas?”

“Oh, yeah,” Blossom said, managing a laugh. “Yeah, that was a winner.”

Brick and Bubbles furrowed their brows.

“Oh, and then there was the time the city faked us out and pretended to kill our dad to teach us a lesson about stealing toys—”

Butch sputtered, “Wait, you guys _stole_? And then they pretended to kill your dad?” His eyes lit up. “Man, we missed out on some good shit! Townsville's pretty fucked up!”

After a pause, Butch frowned and said, “There was something missing from that.”

“Yeah,” Buttercup agreed. “Something feels... incomplete.”

_Language_ , Brick thought to himself, still staring at a mute Blossom, focused on sucking down her drink and not making eye contact. Bubbles glanced back over at her.

“Hey, Blossom? Are you okay?”

Brick watched as she looked up and said, “Oh, yeah! Yeah. I'm just—”

The food arrived then, and Brick couldn't help but notice that Blossom actually looked relieved at the distraction. Her eyes caught Brick's as she took her plate, and he hastily turned to Julie and started talking to her.

More stories were shared over dinner—Brick couldn't keep track of them all. Bubbles went off about a green “blankie” of Buttercup's, which prompted screaming from Buttercup and a story about Bubbles trying to go all hardcore when she was little (“I succeeded!” Bubbles cried), and continuing on in this endless cycle of one story after another. Occasionally Blossom was dragged into the mix, but she wasn't a very able participant. She kept her responses limited to single words and small phrases, and tended to make a show of being preoccupied with eating. When the attention was off of her, though, she only pushed her food around her plate.

“Hey, there's something I wanna know,” Buttercup said suddenly, and looked at the Boys. “How come you guys... you know, aren't with Him anymore?”

Brick tensed, very slightly, and sensed a curious Blossom finally looking up at him.

“That would be thanks to the Idea Man,” Butch said, pointing at Brick with a forkful of steak. “He worked his magic and got us free.”

“'Free?'” Bubbles leaned over the table, looking at Brick. “Were you guys slaves or something?”

“Not really,” Brick said gruffly before his brothers could interrupt. “Just consider it like we were under contract or something. You wouldn't think it, but there's a lot of legal red tape winding around things when you get involved with the Devil.”

“So you signed your souls over or something?” Buttercup scoffed. Boomer laughed.

Brick shrugged. “No. We just... you know, worked for Him. And then we didn't want to work for Him anymore.”

Blossom finally spoke. “Wouldn't a contract with Him be life-binding?” she asked. Brick delayed answering by taking a gulp of his soda.

“That's where Brick stepped in,” Boomer explained. “He made some sort of challenge, or something, and then wound up winning.”

“What was the challenge?” Julie said, very openly interested. Most of the table was, in fact.

“It was a riddle,” Brick said, and Bubbles and Buttercup groaned.

“Oh, man, that Guy and His stupid riddles,” Buttercup griped, shaking her head.

Bubbles was also shaking her head. “He made us go through that, too, all to save the Professor, and then it turned out—”

The rest of the table lapsed into conversation about the Girls' whole ordeal with Him, save for Brick and Blossom.

She looked at him and said quietly, “You challenged Him? Who posed the riddle?”

“He did.”

“And you figured it out?”

He nodded at the table. “We're here, aren't we?”

“Why'd you want to leave?”

“Wouldn't you?”

“Yeah, but I'm...” She trailed off, realizing that what she had been about to say was less than politic.

It really didn't bother Brick either way. He finished for her. “But you're good.”

She looked ashamed that she'd even brought it up. He didn't understand why; she was right. He and his brothers were not good people.

_At least, we're not supposed to be_ , he thought, glancing at his siblings as they engaged in theatrical conversation with hers.

“Was that it? Just solving the riddle?”

“Yeah.” He didn't say that the one riddle was so complex, so involved, that it had actually taken him weeks to get through it. Calling it a riddle was deceptive, too. Riddle implied it was strictly verbal. This one had been anything but.

Their conversing ended there. Brick finished his dinner in silence while Blossom further acquainted her food with her plate. Eventually Julie had to leave, and once Brick was standing to let her pass everybody else wanted to pile out, too.

“There's an old pinball machine I want to check out,” Butch said.

“'Pinball?' Pft, that is so lame,” Buttercup said, but she followed him anyway. Boomer was studying a jukebox in the corner of the restaurant, then nudged Bubbles.

“Wanna go check that out?”

“You go ahead, I'll be right there.”

Blossom stood to let Boomer out, then was abruptly motioned back into her seat by Bubbles, who darted a furtive glance at Brick.

He automatically said, “Excuse me, got a voicemail,” and wandered a bit away, making a show of pressing his phone to the side of his head.

“Is everything okay?” he heard Bubbles ask in a low voice. “You seem really distracted.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Blossom said dismissively. “Just... tired, I guess.”

“Why don't you go home?”

“Oh, I'm not that... well, when are you leaving? I'll just wait for you or Buttercup first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Brick pretended to delete his message and made his way back to the table as Bubbles was getting out. Blossom was seated again, back to sipping at her water glass. As Brick sat, he saw her hand straighten the collar of her shirt, then drift across the top button, making sure it was fastened.

“What—” he started, but was interrupted by the server coming to take their plates away. Blossom gave no indication that she'd heard him, so he just sat back and waited for the guy to clear the table. He played with his coaster after the guy was gone and tried to think of something to say, anything to say. He couldn't think of anything.

***

“So is it true,” Butch asked as he scored a multiball and pinballs poured into the play area, “that your special power is in your tongue?”

Buttercup shoved him. “Who the fuck told you that?”

“Just heard.”

She _humph_ ed and crossed her arms, leaning against the pinball cabinet.

After a pause, Butch spoke again. “So is it?” His eyes were riveted to his game.

Buttercup sighed. “Yeah.”

He instantly straightened, and all his pinballs went gliding into the dead zone. “Show me.”

She made a face. “Why?”

“I wanna see.”

“It's not that exciting.”

“I wanna see, seriously. Show me.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine.” After a second, she stuck her tongue out at him.

He stared. “... Is something supposed to happen?”

“Cahn yoo do fis?” she asked, her tongue still sticking out. He stuck his tongue out, and she settled back, satisfied. “You can't,” she said smugly.

“Fhat? Do fhat?”

“Curl your tongue.” She did it again. “Thee?”

“I didn't do it, just now?”

She tapped the glass of the pinball game. “See for yourself.”

He leaned over to view his reflection and tried it again a couple of times. “Fuck. You're right.” He looked at her. “Buttercup, you've got a mutant tongue.”

“Right, thanks.”

“Though it's kinda useless as a special power, isn't it?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well.”

“Can't you do anything else with it?”

“What do you expect me to do with it?”

He considered a moment. “Well, you'd probably be really good at giving blow—”

She punched him in the face. “ _Fuck you, asshole_!”

“ _Ow_! I'm not trying to be a dick! I'm being serious!”

“ _So am I_! _Go fuck yourself_!”

Butch rubbed at his jaw as Buttercup glared at him. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Damn right you're sorry,” she huffed.

“How am I supposed to fuck myself, anyway?”

Buttercup chose not to deign that with a response.

He fidgeted and said, “Seriously, is that it?”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

After a while he dug around for more change, and shoved his quarters into the pinball machine. A little silver ball rolled in front of the plunger, and he pulled it back.

As he let it go and settled his hands over the buttons for the flippers, Buttercup said abruptly, “I tied a bag of cherry stems with it, once,” and his ball went sailing straight down the middle as he blinked. He looked back at her.

“What?”

She was staring at the ground, scuffing the floor with her shoe. “One summer. We were... going to Robin's house for a party one weekend, and they said there was going to be Truth or Dare, and I thought I might get dared to kiss Mitch, or vice versa, you know?” She swallowed, still scuffing the floor. “So... that morning, I went out and got a full bag of cherries, then locked myself in the closet so I could practice tying knots in the stems.”

She went silent again, lost in memory. Butch grew impatient. “And?”

“I went through the bag in, like, five minutes,” she said in a small voice, blushing a little. “I didn't even need to figure out how to do it. I tied a knot in every stem, on the first try. Even the tiny, short ones.”

Butch stared at her as she marked up the floor with her shoe, thinking of that little sliver of pink curling between her lips.

“So that's my special power,” she shrugged, forcing a laugh. “You heard right.”

Butch looked back at his game, where his next ball sat, waiting to be propelled out. He finally reached for the plunger and drew it back.

“Wow,” he said quietly, just before he let it go. “That's really something.”

***

“So what, did they ask you to pose naked or something?”

Brick regretted it the instant he said it. The way she looked up at him in horror, her face stricken instead of furious, her hands tightening around her glass so hard that a little crack actually appeared in it. He hadn't been serious. It had just been a joke. But her reaction...

A fierce anger suddenly welled up in him, and his glare drilled into her, past her, trying to picture who had asked so he could rip them to shreds later.

“Did they?” he bit out, trying to keep his voice even.

Blossom had recovered and shook her head, flustered. “No! No, that's...”

“Illegal,” he finished. “You're seventeen, aren't you?”

“They didn't ask me to do anything... without clothes,” she said firmly, but she was still hesitant, still uncomfortable. “They... it was FHN. They asked if I wanted to do FHN.”

Brick knew that name; Butch bought it on occasion. It was a good thing he wasn't around to hear this, or he'd probably explode with joy at the mere thought of Blossom in his favorite magazine. This all suddenly struck Brick as a ridiculous thing to get worked up over.

“Was that it?” Brick said coldly, and Blossom shot him a surprised glance.

“What do you mean, 'was that it?'” she asked.

“I've seen FHN. It's just a bunch of pictures of girls in sexy poses, usually covered up.”

“That magazine is an insult to women!” Blossom cried.

“They're not naked.”

“That's not the point!”

“So what are you saying? That we're not allowed to enjoy pictures of sexy girls?”

“That is not—” Blossom made a strangled noise of frustration, then demanded, “Can you even tell me the names of the girls you've looked at in that magazine?”

“I don't actually read that magazine—”

“That I understand,” Blossom said viciously. “There isn't a lot to actually _read_ in it.”

Angry silence.

“You can't think of a name, can you?” Blossom finally said, and Brick huffed out a breath.

“I don't read it.”

“But you've seen it. You've flipped through it.”

“Because I'm a guy.”

“Because you're a pig.”

“Are you going to fucking lecture me for enjoying the way the female body looks?”

“Language,” she snapped, and there was something comforting about the familiar reprimand.

“News flash, Blossom,” Brick said sarcastically. “Guys like pretty girls. Pretty girls get put in magazines for guys to look at. Just because you aren't comfortable with being pretty—”

He cut off, then wished he could knife himself in the gut. He'd just inadvertently admitted he thought she was pretty. To his relief—and mild chagrin—she hadn't picked up on it. She was back to staring at her glass, her hand tracing the crack she'd put in it.

“I don't have a problem with people thinking I'm pretty,” she said softly. “But... I do all this other stuff. You know. I dance. I... I read. I make good grades. I try to help people. I try to be a good person. And we talked about that, a little, in the interview. I just... want that stuff to be important too.”

Brick had his own opinions on helping people and being a good person, but he held his tongue. For whatever reason.

“But they didn't care about that,” she said, shifting in her seat.

“Just because they didn't doesn't mean nobody else does,” he said. Then he was unsure where the words had come from and why he'd said them.

“I mean, by asking me to pose in FHN... I don't know. I guess most models aren't known for their brains, anyway. But maybe it's just that nobody ever asks them because they're too busy staring at their bodies.”

Brick thought back, trying to remember if he'd even thought about how she'd looked when they met again back in January. He hadn't thought of her as pretty then, not even objectively. He hadn't wanted to think about her, period. So why did he keep thinking it now?

“I don't even know what I'm saying,” she muttered, covering her face. “I got so... shaken up when they asked. I just... freaked out...”

For all that he was very often a smooth talker when the need arose, Brick had absolutely no idea how to genuinely comfort her. The fact that he wanted to at all should've disturbed him; it was so out of character for him. But she just looked so wretched, so miserable, that all he wanted to do was make her stop looking that way. He watched as her eyes drifted to the jukebox, her gaze softening as she took in Bubbles and Boomer, dancing and laughing.

“I'm sorry,” he suddenly blurted, and she looked back at him in shock.

“Huh?”

He darted a look at Bubbles and said, “About Bubbles. When I... risked her life. I'm sorry about that.” Now it was his turn to stare at the table, his turn to trace pictures in his glass. The plastic of the booth seat squeaked as Blossom fidgeted.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered, and Brick thought it was a weird way to respond to an apology, but again, he held his tongue.

“Hey, Brick?”

He shifted his gaze to her.  
  


“Could I... could I see those pictures you took of me? On your own camera, I mean.”

He had to go out to his car to get them; his camera was in there. As he was rummaging, he thought he should've asked her to come out so he wouldn't have to hold onto it in the restaurant for the rest of the night. But then that probably meant they'd be sitting together in his car, and he was pretty sure that wasn't a good idea, either.

“Here,” he said, handing her the camera, and she automatically moved so he could sit down next to her. He did so without thinking twice about it. He watched as she scanned through the photos, her brow knit in concentration. At first they were looking at them together, but, having reviewed them himself already, he eventually pulled back to watch her expression soften as she clicked through the pics, one after the other.

“You did so many of my face,” she said, a little incredulously, and Brick grunted. She almost sounded elated about it. She edged closer, holding the camera out to him. Her thigh actually pressed up against his, and if Brick had been paying attention to anything besides the sudden heat of her leg next to his he would've noticed she was actually blushing.

“When was this from?” she asked softly, indicating a shot where she had just pushed her hair back away from her face and was now letting it fall across her arms and shoulders, a wispy red halo about her.

“I... think it was when I had just asked you about dancing,” he said. He really wasn't sure. He was too focused on their slight body contact, on not moving so he wouldn't discourage her from coming closer. She smiled and pulled the camera over to her again.

“You made me look so pretty.”

_I didn't have to make you look anything_ , he thought as he took in the giant empty booth with all that room and furtively shifted closer, so the pressure of her thigh against his grew. _You always look like that_.

She handed the camera back and thanked him as he turned it off. He thought about buying her a dessert or something—she hadn't eaten much—and was wondering whether it would be better to order one for himself, then casually offer her some, when Butch and Buttercup showed up again.

“Outta quarters! Brick, do you have any—wait, you got your camera? Do you have any pictures of Blossom on there? _Can I see_?!”

They wound up having to drag Butch's unconscious body out of the restaurant.

“You sure gave it to him this time,” Boomer observed. “What'd he do?”

“Nothing,” Brick muttered, avoiding Blossom on the way back to his car and trying not to miss the warmth of her body pressed to his.

***

The following Monday morning Bubbles was dropping off a giant bag of 35mm film canisters to be developed when she got a text from Boomer.

_out sick X(_

“Aww,” she said on her way out of the store, and texted him back.

_what's wrong?_

After about a minute he responded:

_fever sniffling coffing hurt all ovr falling apart wout u_

She texted back, _feel better_.

Boomer responded _come c me???_

_L8r_ , she tapped out, smiling, then flew to school. After dropping her stuff off in the music hall she bumped into Buttercup, fresh out of the showers.

“Hey. How was volleyball practice?”

“Fine.” Buttercup tossed her head at her sister. “Where's your pet?”

“What?”

“You know, that blue-eyed puppy that's always following you around.”

“Oh, stop. Boomer's out sick.”

Buttercup glanced at her as they moved down the hall. “Really? So's Butch.”

“Hey, girls,” Blossom greeted, clad in her dance leotard and tights.

“Blossom, is Brick out sick today?” Bubbles asked, and their leader blinked.

“H-how I would know?” she stammered.

“I thought you guys might be practicing or something.”

“No, actually, we hadn't even talked about—”

“There he is,” Buttercup interrupted, pointing down the hall. She gradually lowered her arm, then frowned and said, “Holy crap, he looks like shit.”

Blossom smacked her on the arm. “Language.” Then she too looked over, concerned.

“He's really pale,” Bubbles said. “And he's moving kinda slow.” The first bell rang, jolting them out of their senses, and Buttercup hissed under her breath and made a beeline for her locker.

“You should take him to the Nurse's Office,” Bubbles told Blossom, and then took off for the music hall.

“Wait!” Blossom cried. “Why me?”

Bubbles was already gone. Blossom sighed and looked back at Brick, his back to her as he plodded away down the hall. He really didn't look well at all...

She dodged several students on her way to him. She caught up quickly; he wasn't moving fast.

“Hey,” she said, gently touching him on the shoulder and guiding him around so she could see his face. “Are you okay?”

He looked like he hadn't slept in days. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice sounded off, a little strained. “I'm fine.”

“You know, you don't... you don't look fine. Do you need to go to the Nurse's Office?” She didn't want to take him there without his permission.

“Seriously, I'm okay. Just...” He yawned. “Just tired.”

“You're really pale.”

“Alright, thanks, I know I look like shit,” he said abruptly, obviously irritated, and she drew her hand back. “I told you, I'm fine.”

Blossom huffed at his rudeness, but for once her sense of charity won out over her sense of pride. “Can I walk you to class, at least?”

“No,” he said resolutely, and that was that. She rolled her eyes and headed back to the studio for Dance. Whatever. Brick was a grown boy, and clearly wanted to take care of himself. Fine. It wasn't like he was her responsibility anyway.

***

She changed her mind when he walked into their AP Physics class. Well, “walked” was really pushing it. As soon as he fumbled his way into his seat she switched tables so she could sit next to him.

“Brick! You look terrible!”

He didn't just look terrible, he looked _worse_. Where his skin had been pale before, now it had taken on a faint, sickly yellowish-green hue. Blossom touched a hand to his forehead—he made a face and tried to pull away, unsuccessfully—and she gasped.

“You've got a fever,” she said, gripping his arm with her other hand.

He started to say something and then went into a coughing fit instead.

Blossom steeled her resolve and said, in her most authoritative voice, “Brick, you need to go to the Nurse.”

“I do not,” he wheezed, and Blossom could've hit him. Boys were so stubborn and stupid about these things!

“You're coughing, you have a fever, you look green— _literally_ —not to mention you practically had to drag yourself into the room when you came in. You are sick, and you need to go see—”

“I don't get sick,” he said defiantly. “I told you, I'm tired.”

“Of course you're tired!” she cried. “You're _sick_!”

“Are you done mothering me?” he snapped, and threw her hand off his arm. “Leave me alone.”

Blossom stared at him, fuming, then _Hmph_!ed and gathered up her things to go back to her original table.

“Boys are idiots,” she muttered as she left, making sure he heard her. All throughout the class, though, she kept looking over at him. He seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

_Let him get worse_ , she thought furiously to herself. _Let him play the stupid macho man he so clearly wants to be. “I don't get sick,” tuh. Please._

The tables went into group practice problems about halfway through class, and Blossom soon lost herself in working with her tablemates to solve the questions. On question two her attention was arrested by the door slamming shut, and she automatically looked up to Brick's seat.

Empty.

She blinked and glanced around the room. No sign of him. One of the bathroom passes was missing, though, and, after a fretful moment, she excused herself and took the other bathroom pass, edging out into the hall. He hadn't gotten far. He was leaning his side against the wall, hunched over and covering his face with one hand. Blossom flew over to him just as he sank to his knees.

She stifled a gasp; faint spots were rising on his skin. She recognized these symptoms now; of course, why hadn't she thought of this earlier?!

“Oh my God, I should've dragged you to the Nurse's Office when I first saw you,” she said, kneeling.

“What, did you follow me?” he said blearily, slurring his words. “Leave me alone.”

“I shouldn't have listened to you,” she went on, helping him stand. “Are your brothers sick, too?”

“They're at home,” he said, and started coughing again.

“Did you guys ever get sick when you were here? I mean, as kids? Like when you were five or anything?”

“We never got sick, no.” Blossom had to practically drag him along, but at least he was letting her.

“I can't believe you avoided this for as long as you did. Then again, I guess you never really hung around any other kids...”

Brick pushed her away, trying to walk on his own. “'This?' What do you mean, 'this?'”

“I mean,” she started, and then he fainted.

She caught him on his way to the ground and hoisted him up. “Brick!”

He was out. After weighing her options, she looked up and down the hall to make sure it was empty, then gathered him up in her arms, hooking one under his knees and the other under his shoulders. His head flopped heavily against her chest as she flew to the Nurse's Office.

***

“You're right, Blossom,” the nurse said. “Definitely the AB Virus. I can't believe he avoided it until high school.”

“He and his brothers left for awhile,” Blossom explained. “And they never hung around people much when they were little, either.”

“I don't think it's hit anyone over the age of twelve since the city first contracted it,” the nurse went on. “You'll probably have to talk to your dad about the adult vaccine.”

Blossom nodded. “I thought so.” She should do so immediately. AB could get worse in a day...

“Can you take him home?”

She looked up in surprise. “Me? I... sure, I guess, I just don't know where...” No, Bubbles would know where the Boys lived. Maybe?

“Okay, that's fine,” Blossom said, nodding. “I can take him home.” She left Brick resting on the cot in the office while she went to find Bubbles, who had—was it Government she had now? Yeah, that sounded right. After locating the classroom and knocking lightly on the door, she poked her head in.

“Hi. Could I speak to my sister for a second?”

Bubbles squeezed through the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Well, kind of.” She explained the situation, and a very worried Bubbles hastily gave her the address.

“Oh, I hope Boomer's okay,” she whimpered, digging her phone out of her pocket, ostensibly to text him.

“Probably in better shape than Brick is,” Blossom muttered. “At least he's been home, hopefully sleeping. Brick's been walking around all morning. He actually _fainted_.”

Bubbles was engrossed in her texting. Blossom thought about scolding her for it—they weren't allowed to use their cell phones during school hours—but realized how worried she must be, and simply thanked her for the Boys' address.

She walked briskly back to the Nurse's Office, then decided to stop back by their Physics class to return the bathroom passes and explain what was going on. She then gathered up their things and dashed back to the office just as the bell rang. Brick was awake, but still lying down with his eyes closed.

“I think you were right, as much as it pains me to admit it,” he said, after cracking an eye to find Blossom there. “I'm sick.”

“I'm often right,” Blossom said distractedly. “We should wait to leave. It'll be easier to move around after everyone's out of the hall.”

“What about Enviro Science?” Brick asked. They shared that one, and it was their next class. Blossom left to go talk to their teacher, and also to get the evening's assignment. She soon reappeared with a small stack of handouts.

“Tonight's reading,” she explained to Brick, packing it up in her bag first and then sticking Brick's in between his books. She called the Professor to ask if he could get three adult vaccines for AB ready ASAP.

“What's AB?” Brick asked as she hung up and the bell rang again.

“AB stands for Amoeba Boy,” she said, pocketing her phone. “It first started when we were five. The Amoeba Boys got everyone deathly sick with it, me and my sisters included. Obviously having a stronger immune system doesn't deter it. Think of it like the flu, except... kinda like chickenpox, without the sores.”

“Why like chickenpox?”

“Because it's highly contagious, and the older you get, the worse it is to contract it,” she said. “You guys never really hung around other kids when you were younger, so you probably didn't get significant exposure to it. Now you're in public high school... I'm surprised you only just got it now. Can you sit up?”

Brick struggled, but managed to do so. “I don't much like the idea of the Amoeba Boys starting a virus and then putting it in me. Even indirectly.”

“Yeah, well,” Blossom said, then trailed off, because she didn't know what should come next. “Ready to go?”

Brick let her help him up, too sick to register her hand gripping his and one arm of hers locked around his waist.

“Yeah.”

***

Bubbles tapped her foot nervously in the checkout lane as Buttercup paid for their groceries. After Blossom had told her, she'd texted Buttercup, and somehow, now, here they were.

“I hope there's not a pop quiz in English,” she fretted.

“Oh, come on,” Buttercup said, shrugging it off. “You're worried about him, aren't you? Besides, the Boys gotta eat something. If they've got AB, I doubt they're well enough to cook on their own.” She paused. “I doubt they even cook, period.”

“I think Brick knows a thing or two,” Bubbles said as she took a few bags from her sister and they both took off.

Buttercup scoffed, “Yeah, well. If he's anything like he was this morning, then that guy is in _great_ shape to be cooking.”

***

Brick lived too far away for them to actually walk, and Blossom didn't know how to drive a stick shift—not that Brick would've let her in his car anyway—so that left flying, which meant carrying. Brick was not fond of this idea, but, barely being able to stand, he really didn't have a choice. Which was all for the better, since he was still continuously drifting in and out of consciousness.

He was draped along Blossom's back, piggyback style, and Blossom realized as they hit his street that she didn't remember the number, and the address was somewhere in the depths of her jeans pocket, which she really couldn't get to without dropping him. He was already threatening to fall off as it was.

“Come on, Brick,” Blossom groaned, hoisting him up so he could sit better on her back. “Where do you live?”

Brick made a noncommittal noise and gestured vaguely at the street. Blossom sighed and blew her bangs out of her face.

“Focus, alright? Just… okay, just open your eyes and point at the building, or tell me the number, or _something_.”

“It’s the big one,” he mumbled into her shoulder, breath hot and sick against her neck. Ugh. She wrinkled her face and looked around.

“Big what? Big building?”

He nodded slightly and added, “The tallest one. The top floor.”

“The tallest…” Blossom looked around and stopped as her eyes settled. “ _There_? You live _there_?”

“Pretty sweet, huh,” Brick murmured.

“Kind of,” she admitted, wondering who they’d stolen the rent money from. “Can we go in through the window?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Door. I’ve got the keys.”

She sighed again. “Front door it is,” she conceded, and walked into the building.

***

“How are you feeling?” Bubbles asked as she poured a fresh glass of water for Boomer and carried it over to the couch. “Any better?”

“I guess. At least until you leave.” He grinned weakly at her, and she smiled.

“Ugh, now you’re making _me_ sick,” Buttercup gagged from the kitchen, and Bubbles shot a disapproving look over her shoulder.

“Nobody asked _you_ to stay,” Bubbles retorted, and Butch raised his hand from where he laid on the living room floor.

“I asked,” he pointed out. “Because Boomer didn’t feel like playing with me. ‘Go play with yourself,’ he said.”

“Hey,” Boomer warned, eyes narrowed. “We got ladies in the house.”

“Ladies cooking for you, no less,” Buttercup muttered under her breath as she set a pot of water to boil. “A little help, Bubbles?”

Bubbles looked down at Boomer and smiled again. “Drink your water.”

The look on his face was apprehensive. “Don’t leave me. What if I drown?”

Bubbles stifled a giggle and tried to look serious. “You’re going to drown in that cup of water?”

“I’m very sick, you know. It could happen.”

“You’re just… you’re so silly!” Bubbles laughed, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

“Hey, how come I don’t get any kisses?” Butch sounded upset.

“ _Bubbles_! Help much?!” Buttercup snapped. “Seriously, for Christ’s sake!”

“Alright! Keep your shirt on,” Bubbles grumbled, squeezing Boomer’s hand before heading for the kitchen.

“Please don’t,” Butch said hopefully. “Please don’t keep your shirt on.”

Buttercup pitched a dish towel at him.

***

“Okay,” Blossom huffed, staring at Brick’s front door. “We’re here. Got your keys?”

“Mmph. Let me down, they’re in my jeans.”

Blossom shifted and eased him down to the ground. “You got it?”

“I got it,” he mumbled as his feet met the floor. Only obviously not, because the minute she stepped away he stumbled back against the opposite wall, knees crumpling.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake,” he moaned, trying to push himself up. Blossom bit back her instinctive reprimand for naughty language and instead reached to help him.

“You alright?”

“Everything except my dignity, which is clinging on by mere threads,” he groused, allowing Blossom to wrap her arms around his back and raise him to his feet. Her cheek was pressed to his chest and she paused, his heartbeat weak and irregular against her skin. His body was radiating unnatural heat in tidal waves. That wasn’t good.

“Oh my God, you’re hot,” she said incredulously, drawing back and pressing the back of her hand to his cheek.

He blinked and said, “Oh. For a second there, I thought you were jumping on the bandwagon.”

She curled her lip, disgusted, and pulled her hands back, leaving him to wobble against the wall himself.

“Yeah, because blindly trailing about in your wake like a swooning idiot is exactly how I’d like to spend my free time.”

“A good amount of girls do. I hear they’ve a website and everything.”

“Just give me your keys.”

As he tugged them out and passed them to her, he said, “For someone who hasn’t had a history of being particularly nice to me—”

“Oh, like _you’re_ one to talk,” Blossom snapped, jamming his key into the lock.

“You’re being unnaturally nice to me right now,” he finished, giving up on standing and sinking to the floor. “What’s up with that?”

“I help people,” she said abruptly, and pushed open the door. “It’s what I do. I’m a good guy.”

“A good guy,” he breathed as she slipped one of his arms over her shoulders and began walking him to the door. “One who helps out her mortal enemies?”

“If you still consider yourself one of my mortal enemies, then apparently yes,” she muttered under her breath as she kicked the door shut behind them. There was a brief lull in the room’s conversation as four heads swiveled round to find Blossom under Brick’s arm.

“Okay, me telling you the boys had AB was _not_ an invitation to skip school to come visit them,” Blossom said sternly, narrowing her eyes at Buttercup and Bubbles.

“Oh, Blossom, Boomer's _sick_ —”

“Class attendance is overrated—”

“I think I need to lie down,” Brick said, voice suddenly strained and urgent as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor, dragging Blossom down with him.

“Oh, for—” Blossom bit her lip and, ignoring the rest of the room’s eyes on them, curved an arm each under Brick’s shoulders and knees, respectively, and stood, Brick’s limp body folding up and curling against her chest. The room was already quiet, but as she straightened it suddenly seemed to get a hundred times quieter.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Where’s his room?” she asked, eyes settling on Butch and Boomer, who both wordlessly pointed at a door thataway.

“Thanks,” she muttered, and started floating to his room.

“I think I just fainted,” Brick said feebly, eyes shut and breath once again warm and sick against her neck. “In front of everybody.”

“You crumpled to the floor in a very dignified manner,” Blossom assured him. He pressed his head a little closer into her, almost a nuzzle.

“So long as it was a manly faint.”

“Oh, I don’t think it could’ve gotten more manly than that,” she said, and turned to the silent room again once she reached his door. Everyone’s eyes were still on the two of them.

“At ease, men,” she said dryly, and pushed into his room.

As the door shut behind them Butch’s face fell and he muttered, “That lucky _bastard_.”

***

Afternoon sunlight seeped in through the blinds, slats of light cutting across his bed. Blossom eased him down onto it and watched as he shifted on the covers, his cap rolling off his head onto the pillow.

After a moment of awkward silence she asked, “Are you… how are you feeling?”

“That’s a stupid question,” he mumbled. “I feel _awesome_ and totally not sick. Happy?”

“Not really,” she muttered, noticing an empty glass on his nightstand and picking it up. She considered for a moment, then walked over to the connecting bathroom and rinsed it out, filling it with fresh water. When she returned he had curled into himself, his breathing heavy with sleep, and she took a deep breath as she set his glass down on the nightstand again. Another moment passed before she curled an arm under him again and tugged the covers out, smoothing them over him. He made an unintelligible sound and pressed his cheek to her hand just as she was lifting it away, and she stopped.

His room was very quiet, save for his breathing and the thudding of her heart in her throat. She felt herself blushing for no good reason and pulled her hand away, letting his head flop against the pillow.

_That’s it_ , she thought. _Go home. You don’t have to do anymore, just go home_.

She took a hesitant step back, ran a hand through her hair. Bent and readjusted the sheets, letting a hand drift across his chest as she stood again.

This was stupid. Needless doting and touching, like he couldn’t take care of himself. She shook her head and turned away, squeezing out the door back into the living room. Boomer looked like he was feigning sleep on the couch and Butch was vaguely jabbing at the buttons on the remote. The girls were in the kitchen, bustling about. Blossom sucked her lips in between her teeth and strode over to her sisters, watching as they prepped and cut veggies. Bubbles met her eyes briefly and smiled. Buttercup was engrossed in her carrot washing. Blossom looked back at the boys, exhausted and pale with sick.

“What are you two doing?” she demanded as she looked back at the girls.

“Making soup,” Buttercup said shortly, and began chopping up her carrots. She still wouldn’t look up. Blossom stood there a moment, eyes flicking between her sisters and the door, thinking of Brick mumbling and breathing and fainting. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Is there,” she started uneasily, then sighed again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

***

“What a sight,” Butch sighed in happiness as he leaned against the breakfast bar, watching the girls in the kitchen. “Isn’t it, Boomer?”

Boomer groaned and complained, “I thought I told you to shut up and let me _sleep_!”

“Three girls! In our kitchen! Being domestic!” Butch sighed again. “There’s only one way this could get any better—”

“I have a knife in my hands, and I _will_ cut your mouth off with it if you don’t shut up,” Buttercup warned, voice irritable as she glared daggers at Butch.

“Shut up, you two,” Bubbles said crossly. “Let Boomer sleep.”

“Thank you, love of my life,” Boomer called from the couch, and Bubbles blushed. Butch and Buttercup made faces of disgust at each other.

Blossom rummaged in the cabinets for bowls. “You guys never cook, huh? It doesn’t look like you’ve _touched_ any of this stuff.”

“They don’t cook,” Buttercup immediately answered. “Nothing in those cabinets had been touched before we got here.”

“Why cook when you got ladies to come over and do it for you?” Butch automatically responded, and all three of the girls gave pause to consider the multitude of knives at their disposal.

“Okay, Buttercup? Explain why you are friends with him again?” Blossom said icily, ladling out soup. Bubbles grabbed a bowl and immediately took it over to Boomer.

“I am not friends with him,” Buttercup confirmed, shooting him a dirty look. “There are just extended shared moments of not wanting to kill each other that somehow worked their way into our existence.”

Butch was watching Bubbles spoon soup into Boomer’s mouth. He then turned to Buttercup and pointed at his own open mouth.

“Ah. Ah ah.”

“Like _h_ _ell_!” Buttercup bit, shoving a bowl at him. “Feed your damn self!”

“But I’m siiiiiiick!” Butch whined.

“You'll be sicker if you don't shut up,” Buttercup snapped, throwing a spoon into the bowl and sending soup sloshing over the sides.

He made a face at her and looked at his soup. “Fine. I’ll ask Blossom. Blossom?”

It occurred to the four of them that Blossom was nowhere to be seen.

Buttercup wrinkled her brow and said, “Blossom?”

Suddenly the sound of a slamming door echoed in the room, and all of them simultaneously looked in the direction of Brick’s room. Butch was agape with shock.

“That lucky _bastard_!”

***

“If you go out there again,” Brick mumbled bitterly into his pillow as Blossom shut the door behind her. “Tell them to _please_ do me a favor and _shut the fuck up_.”

“Language,” Blossom reprimanded quietly, and shuffled things around so she could set the soup down on the nightstand. She noted the empty glass and without a moment’s hesitation took it to the bathroom to refill it. Brick was in the process of sitting up when she returned. She couldn't believe he'd put his cap back on.

“I’m not really hungry, you know,” he breathed.

“Eat it anyway,” she ordered, setting the glass down. As she watched him steady himself on shaky limbs, a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Can you feed yourself?”

“Yes,” he said automatically and harshly, but he didn’t move to grab the spoon. His arms were still shaking. Blossom took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, considering.

“C’mon,” she finally surrendered, waving at him. “Scoot over.”

“No, I—”

“ _Scoot over_ ,” she insisted, and instead of waiting for a response simply shoved him over so she could sit down. He sighed as she took the bowl in her hands and roughly stirred at the soup.

“I told you I wasn’t—”

“Shut up.” She blew on it very slightly with her ice breath, cooling it enough to drink.

“That’s a neat trick. Where’d you learn that?”

“I never really learned it,” Blossom said quietly as he let her slip the spoon into his mouth. “Just sorta… happened one day, I guess.” She wrinkled her face at him as she stirred the soup a bit again. “You oughtta recognize it. I probably used it on you when we were kids.”

“I don’t remember,” he sighed, and swallowed another spoonful. “Where’d this come from? It’s good.”

“My sisters went out and bought groceries or something—cut school to do it, I might add—and were making it when we got here. C’mon,” she urged, and he hesitated before sipping.

“When's, um... when's your dad going to have the vaccine ready?”

“He said he can bring it by later tonight. He's working on it right now. The Professor's one of only a few who can make the adult vaccine.”

“The hospital doesn't keep it in stock?”

“They keep the youth vaccine in stock, yes, but adults coming down with AB is so rare—seriously, it hasn't happened since the first outbreak—that they only have a few specialists who can whip it up when the need arises.”

“How's he going to administer it when needles can't break our skin?”

“He'll put just a little Antidote X on the area,” she said.

“Of co—” Brick suddenly went into another coughing fit, and Blossom pulled the bowl away so it wouldn't spill.

He gasped for breath after it was done and hissed, “Fuck.”

“Hey,” Blossom said, frowning.

“I hate this,” he went on. “I've never been sick before. We're not supposed to get sick.”

“Every immune system has its weakness,” Blossom said. “Even superhero ones.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks and it's stupid,” he whined, sounding remarkably like a kid for once. “I don't like it. I feel like a fucking weakling. I feel like I'm going to die.”

“Brick, you're not going to—”

“I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. And I fainted like five fucking times—”

“Actually, just two,” Blossom corrected. “And could you please stop cursing?”

He coughed again, and gasped, “I'm sore all over, and I can't even breathe right—”

He pushed his cap off his head long enough to swipe at his brow, thick with sweat. Blossom instantly set down the bowl and rushed to the bathroom, snatching a washcloth off the rack and wringing it under cold water. She sped back to the bed and grabbed Brick’s cap before he could put it back on, pressing the towel to his forehead instead. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Oh my God, that feels good,” he breathed, eyes closing.

Blossom smoothed his hair away and ran the towel along his brow to his cheek, his neck. Her other hand lingered in his hair, orange that wasn’t hers weaving along her skin. It was probably because he was delirious, feverish, that he lifted a hand and rested it on her leg, the weight of it heavy against the layer of denim. She froze, suddenly realizing she’d been inching closer to his face the entire time.

When his eyes opened she was perched a healthy distance away again, patting the towel against his neck. The sunlight fell in diagonal lines across her face, so he couldn’t quite see that she was blushing.

“Feel better?” she asked, eyes elsewhere, and he grunted assent. “Good,” she whispered, and stood, his wayward hand falling back to the bed. She hung the towel over his headboard and nudged the soup. “Do you want any more of this?”

“You can leave it,” he said quietly, watching as she fiddled nervously with his nightstand things.

“You should drink this water,” she mothered, holding out the glass. He took it and sipped. “I’ll be going now,” she announced, and backed to the door.

“Do I owe you for this?”

“Beg pardon?”

“This,” he clarified, giving a noncommittal wave around the room. “This ‘taking care of me’ business.”

Her eyes hardened. “If you have to bother asking, then yeah. I’d say you owe me.” She turned away again. “But don’t bother.”

“Why not?”

She paused at the door, then turned and met his eyes one last time. “I’m a good guy. Remember?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll think of something.”

“I already told you. Don’t bother.” She slipped out the door, their siblings’ conversation and laughter filtering in for a brief moment before she closed it, and then he was alone again.

***

“Come on, girls,” Blossom announced as she strode to the front door. “Let’s go home.”

“Already?” Butch whined. “But you guys haven’t even tried out the hot tub yet!”

“We don’t have a hot tub,” Boomer said.

Butch took a deep breath before snarling, “Boomer. Shut up.”

“We’re not dressed for a hot tub anyway,” Bubbles said innocently, and Buttercup smacked Butch before he could reply.

“Thank you,” Boomer said, flashing Bubbles a brilliant smile, and she bent to kiss him.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured against her lips.

“ _I_ don’t deserve _this_ ,” Buttercup said loudly, arms crossed. “Move it, Blondie.”

After another few protracted farewells Blossom and Buttercup managed to bodily drag Bubbles out and into the air.

“You are _way_ too into that guy,” Buttercup griped as they flew home.

“At least I _have_ a guy,” Bubbles shot back.

“Hey!” Buttercup’s voice carried threat of bodily harm in it. “I’ll date again when I’m good and ready!” They continued bickering all the way home and then some, until Buttercup said a nasty word and the Professor stuck her with kitchen detail after dinner.

“I’ve spent half my day in the friggin’ kitchen,” Buttercup grumbled as she started on the dishes. Bubbles went back with the Professor to the Boys' apartment to administer the vaccine—and also to make sure he didn't “accidentally” throttle Boomer. Blossom stayed behind.

“He was very well behaved tonight,” Bubbles announced as she wandered into their room. “I mean the Professor. Boomer slept through the whole thing.”

“Mmm.” Blossom was settled on the floor with her homework.

“What are you working on?” Bubbles asked, and was surprised when Blossom jumped.

“Just my Calculus homework,” she responded automatically, and Bubbles eyed the book in her lap that clearly read _English_. “I mean, History. I mean, English.” After a pause, Blossom gave Bubbles a furtive look and ventured, “Actually, in England they learn a different type of Calculus. That’s what I’m working on.”

“That’s actually kind of insulting, that you just tried that. And you aren't even in Calculus this year.”

The look on Blossom’s face was repentant. “I’m sorry.”

“So what happened with you and Brick today?” Bubbles said, her hands on her hips and head cocked. Blossom glared at her.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” After a moment, Bubbles sat by her sister. “That’s a shame.”

“No, it isn’t,” Blossom said, her teeth gritted.

“It kinda is. I mean, you have to admit.”

“I don’t—” Blossom shut her eyes, face pained for a moment. Then her expression hardened. “I’m not—I don’t like him.”

Bubbles studied her sister, watched as her eyes opened and her gaze drifted, focused somewhere that clearly wasn’t their room. The thin line that was her mouth softened, and she gave a little sigh.

“Seriously,” Blossom added, and Bubbles laid a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“That’s okay,” she assured. “I don’t actually like Boomer either.”

Blossom sighed. “Bubbles, you’re such a terrible liar.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bubbles smiled back, and her sister went quiet.  
  


***

The next day Boomer and Butch were already back at school. Brick, on the other hand, had let his condition worsen significantly by spending the first morning out at school. The Professor said that he was going to be fine, but would need a few days of bedrest before he'd be back up and moving around. All the Boys were going to be on antibiotics for a few days.

Blossom had been slightly distracted all day. Brick was in mostly the same classes as her, even if they didn't have them at the same times. The only thing they didn't share was Art. She picked up an extra handout of everything, then packed it up with her books and shot over to the Boys' apartment as soon as the bell rang. The Dance Company could do without her for one day.

Blossom hesitated before knocking lightly on the door. She stepped back in line of the peephole, shifting back and forth on her feet and trying to look nonchalant.

Nothing happened. She frowned and reached to knock again.

“Need these?”

She yelped in surprise and dropped the armload of books she was carrying as Butch appeared at her side, dangling a set of keys from his hand. He had an interesting look on his face and laughed as she stooped to gather up her things.

“You could’ve given me some warning,” she grumbled.

“You could’ve given me his books at school,” Butch pointed out, unlocking the door. She rolled her eyes as he swung it open and allowed her through.

“Like you would’ve passed it on.”

“Hey, for _you_ , I’d kill the guy.”

“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean my superhearing doesn’t work, jackass.” Brick’s voice was faint behind his door. “Blossom, what are you doing here?”

Butch interrupted her by imitating a porn riff. “Bow chicka bow—”

Suddenly the door to Brick’s room swung open and a desk lamp was fired out of it at breakneck speed. Blossom ducked as Butch got a faceful of lamp.

“Augh! What the hell, dude?!”

Brick appeared in the doorway, clinging to the frame and looking pale. “Clean that up,” he ordered, gesturing at the shattered lamp bits on the floor. Blossom immediately set her books down on the coffee table and began to make her way to Brick.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” he groused. “What are you doing— _think twice before you ‘Bow chicka bow wow’ me, shithead_ ,” he snapped at Butch before he could start.

“Language,” Blossom frowned. “Anyway, I… I thought you might… um… I brought your homework.” She indicated the books she’d set down behind her. He blinked torpidly in surprise.

“Oh.”

She waved her hands about, not sure where else to carry the conversation. “And, I dunno, I could go over it with you if you like—I mean, if you don’t feel—if you feel up to it, that is. Not saying that you’d have a problem playing catchup,” she hastily added. “But… um, if you felt up to it. And how are you feeling, I’m sorry, I forgot to ask?”

Brick blinked at her again. She wanted to cringe.

His gaze flicked to his brother, dumping the remnants of the lamp in the trash.

Sensing Brick’s eyes on him, Butch waved a dismissive hand and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stick around to piss you off. I’ve got plans.”

_Say no_ , Brick thought. _You should say no_.

He pressed his mitt to his eyes and rubbed at them. “Um, I’m okay. Better than yesterday. Slept a lot.”

Blossom nodded. “Good. That’s good. You're not green like you were yesterday.”

“And, um… sure, yeah.” His eyes drifted to Butch, who was being a little too quiet for his liking as he made his way to the front door. “Just because catchup wouldn’t be a problem doesn’t mean I wanna do it, so—”

“See you,” Butch called out as he left.

“Bye,” Blossom and Brick responded simultaneously. The door echoed when it slammed.

***

“You ever get jealous of your sisters?”

Buttercup looked at Butch in the next batting cage. “Huh? Like of what?”

His bat made a sharp _crack_ ing sound as it connected with the ball. “Like of anything. You know, like... Blossom's all smart, and Bubbles sings and is so popular...”

“Well, we're all pretty popular.”

“Those are shitty examples. Just... you ever get jealous of them?”

Buttercup thought for a moment, swinging as another baseball came flying at her. “Yeah. Sure. Like... I know Blossom's the smart one, and Bubbles is the cute one, and I'm the tough one... but, it's like, people are scared of me. Because I'm supposed to be the tough, scary one. Like, Blossom and Bubbles are more girly, and more... I dunno, approachable, I guess. So people like talking to them.”

“You mean at school?”

“Or even just around the city, you know?” Buttercup said. “People say 'Hi' to them more often, they smile more, they strike up random conversations. People say 'Hi' to me, but that's usually it. They don't really... you know, talk to me.”

“Don't you prefer it that way?”

“I'm not saying I want to talk to them,” Buttercup said, rolling her shoulders back and readying herself for another swing. “But... the option would be nice.”

They swung a few more balls in silence.

“What about,” Butch finally said, then cleared his throat. “What about when they get things you want?”

After a second spent contemplating, she said, “Our dad's always been really good about not playing favorites, so I don't really feel—”

“What about trophies? Awards?”

“Well, we all do different things—”

“You don't feel like they get more recognition than you?”

“Dude, what bug crawled up your ass today?” she asked, stepping back and leaning on her bat. “Is everything okay with you and your brothers?”

“Just thinkin',” he said. “Brick... you know, back at... back at work. He's like their fucking Golden Child, you know.“

“He strikes me as the type.”

“He's got all the brains, all the ideas. I mean, I guess that makes sense. He's the leader.”

“His ideas don't always work though, do they?”

“No.” Butch swung, struck another ball. “But he has 'em.”

“You got ideas of your own?”

  
“I don't really think like that. I—fuck, you know. I don't do plans.”

“Yeah, well,” Buttercup scoffed.

“But he's always getting praised, you know? People are always throwing themselves all over the place for him.”

“I can see how he'd kinda... inspire that in a person.”

“Girls, too,” Butch said. “When we first got here. All the girls were looking at him.”

“I think they were afraid he was going to kill them.”

Butch thought back, remembering. “Maybe.”

Buttercup studied him as she lifted her bat off the ground and swung it experimentally.

“They looked at you too, Butch.”

“For like, five seconds,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You don't seem to have a problem with them,” Buttercup said. “With getting girls, at least. Keeping them's different.”

“I'm usually not interested in that.”

“Maybe that's your problem.”

“Brick's not interested either. But all he has to do is stand there and things fucking drop in his lap. He says he works for shit, and I guess he does work pretty hard, but then there's other shit that just... comes to him. I dunno. He works hard but he bleeds less for it.”

“Butch, you seem to _like_ bleeding for things.”

He spat at the ground, tapped the dirt with his bat. “Most things.”

Buttercup took one last swing, then stepped up to the metal links separating them and leaned.

“You're really jealous of Brick, huh?” she said, in a voice that was almost comforting.

“No,” he said instantly, swinging hard and thinking of how Blossom had dashed up to his brother without so much as a look in Butch's direction. He let his bat drop to the ground, his arms hanging heavy at his sides. “I'm just sick of Brick getting everything I want.”

***

The rest of the week Blossom became almost as permanent a fixture as Bubbles was in the Boys' apartment. She passed her Dance Company duties for the week on to her fellow officers and was out through the doors before the final bell even stopped ringing, arms laden with books. Bubbles and Buttercup came over again to make another giant pot of soup. That was really the only time Blossom ran into Buttercup there again. She was hanging out with Butch a lot, who didn't seem to want to stick around. Bubbles often showed up, though, and had the very bad habit of retreating into Boomer's room. It made both Blossom and Brick very uncomfortable the first afternoon it happened, as they were studying at the coffee table.

After Brick glanced at his brother's door for the _n_ th time, Blossom stood up.

“I'm going to check on them.”

“Thank you,” he said.

She didn't bother knocking; the door wasn't locked anyway. Bubbles and Boomer looked up from a card game they were playing on the floor.

“What?” they both asked, innocently.

After the fifth time it happened, Blossom asked if they wouldn't mind leaving his door open. That didn't help. They cooed at each other so often Blossom felt it was almost worse than the idea of them making out, and Brick thought he might be having a relapse.

“Seriously, I feel like I'm going to vomit,” he said, after Bubbles squealed at Boomer for winning the last round of Go Fish.

“Will you two take that somewhere else?!” Blossom shouted, a little angrier than she intended. A very perplexed blond couple left after that.

It was still the beginning of the semester, so there wasn't a lot to discuss, academically. Once they got through their homework—which seemed to go remarkably fast, even considering that Brick wasn't at top performance—they moved on to discussing what they should do for Mrs. Morbucks' event in November.

“Oh, I forgot, she bumped that back,” Brick said. “She called me earlier today. Said something else is going on then. We'll be doing the dance show in December.”

“That gives us more time, at least,” Blossom said. “You know, I don't think we can choreograph an entire show on our own. I mean, we'll be busy enough. Think she'd be okay if we brought in Jim? And Faust? Maybe I could ask Mel and the other officers to come up with something, too.”

They went back and forth about ideas over the next couple of days, generally stopping before it grew dark, when Brick got tired. He was definitely improving with each passing day, though, so it surprised Blossom on Thursday when she arrived—he now left the door unlocked for her—and Brick wasn't already in the living room. She set up at the coffee table and gave it a few minutes. When he didn't show up, she headed for his door and knocked.

“Brick?”

He didn't respond, so she gently opened it. He was asleep on his bed, the little bottle of antibiotics the Professor had left for him open on his nightstand. Blossom closed it and peered through it; only a couple of days' worth left. It did have a tendency to make one drowsy. He was sleeping with the blinds open, so the afternoon light was illuminating his room. She looked out across the landscape of Townsville through the window for a second, marveling at the view. Then she turned her attention to the shelves—sparse, but laden with books. She spotted Machiavelli and was reminded of their loud, very public spat in the middle of the hall just earlier this year.

_Never would've guessed I'd be here now_ , she thought, a little cynically. He had another shelf of art books—various collections of photographs, of paintings, and an art history book on the Hellenistic period in the mix. _When did you get so into art_? she wondered. Had it happened when they were kids? She never would've thought it possible. Then again, it wasn't like they'd ever really talked.

There was an entire shelf dedicated to Camus. Again, the shelves were small, but the fact that he had set aside an entire shelf for the philosopher simultaneously surprised and thrilled her. Up until the Boys had arrived in high school, she'd never have considered Brick the intellectual type. One of the books was especially worn, so worn she couldn't make out the title on the binding, and she tugged it out, curious. It was a collection of essays in the original French ( _He should talk to Bubbles more often_ , she thought), and as she flipped through it the book automatically fell open to what was clearly the most read page in the book. Her eyes immediately shot to the sole line of text that had been underlined several times in faded pencil. She recognized his handwriting; he had translated it in the margin of the book.

_I think my life is of great importance, but I also think it is meaningless._ She mouthed the line to herself, trying to feel the same meaning Brick obviously derived from it. There was a sudden shifting on the bed, and she turned, closing the book and returning it to the shelf as she did so. Brick was sitting up, and as soon as he caught sight of her he seemed taken aback.

“Is it... is it four already?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Blossom moved to the foot of his bed, then, after a moment, sat delicately on the edge. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm okay. Just the meds. Made me sleepy.” He yawned. “Didn't expect to nap so long.” Something suddenly seemed to occur to him, and he glanced around the room.

“I didn't find anything incriminating,” she assured him, cracking a smile.

“Oh, good.” After a pause, he said, “Didn't run into my FHN collection, huh?”

“Not funny,” she scolded, but her expression wasn't exactly angry. He kicked off the covers.

“I'll be right out,” he said as he floated to his bathroom. “Just need to splash some water on my face.”

“Okay,” Blossom said, then, without thinking, “I'll be waiting.” She could hear the water running, filling the sink.

Brick was silent for a moment, then finally said, “Okay.”

***

Boomer and Bubbles were up in the sky relaxing amidst the clouds when he got a sudden phone call.

“Dude, I didn't think you could get reception up here,” he said in disbelief, then flipped it open. “Yo.”

“Boomer! What the fuck? You haven't shown up to practice all week!”

“Hey, Mitch,” he said, smiling at Bubbles. “You know I was sick.”

“For one day, jackass!”

“Hey, I'm out with Bubbles right now,” he said, and Bubbles perked up.

“Of course you're out with Bubbles,” Mitch grumbled. “How about coming out to see your band? And maybe practicing once in awhile?”

“Naw, man, I'm good—”

Bubbles snatched the phone out of his hands and said, “We'll be right there, Mitch,” before hanging up. Boomer pouted at her.

“But I want to hang out with you!”

“I can go with you,” she said. “Besides, he's right. You've been hanging out with me an awful lot. The guys probably miss you.”

They stopped by the apartment to pick up his guitar—Bubbles waved at Brick and Blossom in the living room—then booked for the Floydjoydsen's house.

“'Bout time,” Mitch muttered. The twins didn't look very happy, either. “Have you been practicing?”

Boomer shrugged. “Here and there.”

Bubbles darted a glance at Mitch and shook her head, mouthing, _Haven't seen it_.

“Great,” Mitch muttered.

“Tuning,” Boomer announced, then, after that was done, they started up their first song, stopping only once they hit the bridge and Mitch fucked up the bass part. Boomer had played perfectly up to that point.

“Geez, Mitch, I thought you'd been practicing,” Boomer quipped, and Mitch glared at him.

“Boomer, be nice,” Bubbles said from her corner of the garage. After getting through that one with minimal flubs, Mitch suggested one with a harder guitar part. Boomer snickered. As with the first, he played this one perfectly, too. In fact, he played them all perfectly.

“I thought you said this guy hadn't practiced,” Mitch said in disbelief to Bubbles.

“I said I hadn't seen it,” she said, clapping proudly. “Boomer, when do you do it? When your brothers are asleep?”

“No, Brick would kill me,” he said. “Are we good for the day? Can I get back to hanging out with my awesome girlfriend now?”

The guys grumbled their assent, and Boomer and Bubbles left, her clinging to his arm.

“You're so good,” she said happily, pressing against his arm.

“I know,” he said, smirking.

“Seriously, when'd you discover you had this special power? Was it when we were five?”

“No, I was... older than that,” he said, still smirking. “'S not really a special power. Or, well, I guess it kinda—”

“But you never have to practice! That's pretty much a special power, isn't it? If you can just, you know, do it?”

“You know, tell you what. Let's go. I'll show you.”

***

The rest of Brick's and Blossom's afternoon went as per usual. They got through their homework, then lapsed into discussion of the big charity event. They decided that next week, once Brick was back a hundred percent, they'd start rehearsing. Once settling that, Brick looked out the window and realized it was already dark.

“Oh my gosh, it's almost dinner time,” Blossom said, incredulous. She started to pack her things.

“Did you guys have plans tonight?” Brick asked.

“No, the Professor's working late again. It's just leftovers.”

Brick glanced at the clock, fidgeting. He was feeling better. A lot better, in fact. Well enough to go out...

He tried to think of someplace to take her. What kind of food did she like? Someplace nice; he thought she might like that. He bit his lip and rubbed his hands along his jeans, his brain working furiously to come up with a suggestion.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, already at the door.

“Yeah, bye,” he said hoarsely, and the slamming of the door echoed in the now eerily quiet room. He sighed and went into the kitchen, heating up the last of the soup for dinner. He finished it at the dinner table in silence, occasionally glancing at the coffee table in the living room, decorated with his open textbooks. It bugged him that he'd thought of asking her. It bugged him even more that he hadn't.

After some pacing, he stacked up his books and decided to just get ready for bed. He thought he might actually go in to school tomorrow, even if the meds made him sleepy. He started to shed his clothes to dump them in the hamper, then went around the room collecting any other discarded clothing. He cringed as he did so; shit, if he'd known she'd come into his room he'd have cleaned up the place a bit, and maybe double-checked to make sure she wouldn't find anything incriminating. He fished through the pockets of a pair of jeans, just to make sure he didn't lose any bills in the wash, and discovered Joseph's business card. Brick paused, his eyes tracing the phone number as he thought about Blossom, upset and ashamed in the booth last week. Joseph had asked her, he was sure of it. Brick felt a dim fury well up in him at the idea; even though Blossom had no reason to be ashamed of her beauty it made him inexplicably angry that Joseph had asked such a thing of her.

He thought about tearing up the card, about setting it aflame and watching those ten digits, those six letters, curl into black ash. Then he opened the drawer of his desk and grudgingly set it down, next to Reccardi's, and continued to get ready for bed.

***

Boomer took her to the music store they'd visited over the summer. It was already dark and closed, and Bubbles hesitated as Boomer knelt and examined the lock on the gate.

“Boomer, what are we doing here?”

“I just need some instruments,” he said, producing a little blue spark of a key and using it to jimmy the lock.

“You're _stealing_?” she gasped.

“No, no,” he assured her as the gate gave and he set about working on the door. “I just need a place with some instruments. I'm just trying to show you.”

Bubbles still held back, even after the door was open and he beckoned her inside.

“Boomer, no. I don't like this.”

He came up to her and gave her a quick kiss. “We're not taking anything, I promise. I just want to play some instruments for you.”

She reluctantly let him lead her into the dark store—that was another thing creeping her out, and Boomer found the lights and hit them. Then she just felt like they were on the spot, begging for the cops to come.

“We won't be here long,” he promised, then stepped back. “Okay. Pick an instrument. Um, maybe not something that requires me putting my mouth on it. Not that I mind, but whoever buys the instrument might.”

Momentarily distracted, Bubbles thought. She knew he played guitar and piano.

“Can... can you play the drums?”

They found a kit in the back of the store and she discovered, yes, Boomer could play the drums.

“Pick another one,” he urged her, grinning.

“Um... how about the xylophone?” Another percussive instrument, but definitely different from the drums. They located the xylophones, and Boomer played those, too. She was smiling when he finished.

“What else?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said, looking around. “What about... oh my gosh, do you think they have a harp here?”

There was one harp in the store, a very expensive one behind a red velvet rope on a platform, and Boomer clambered under the rope and then played _While My Guitar Gently_ _Weeps_ so sweetly that it almost brought Bubbles to tears.

“That was beautiful,” she said as he finished, her eyes moist.

“Pick another,” he said simply.

“I don't even... um, banjo.”

He played the banjo.

“Violin.”

He played the violin.

“Cowbell.”

He looked at her. “You're kidding, right?”

“I can't think of anything else,” she said, sinking onto a stool. “I can't believe it. Where—you said this isn't a special power?”

“Well, it only... kinda is,” he said, scratching his neck. She shook her head.

“I don't get it. What do you mean?”

He knelt next to her, a secretive look on his face. “Promise you won't tell?”

“Tell what?”

“Not even my brothers know about it.”

The exclusivity of his request thrilled her so much that she started to whisper. “What is it?”

“I didn't discover I had this special power,” he said quietly, his eyes glittering. “I asked for it.”

She stared at him a second, trying to process the information. “I don't—what?”

“I didn't, you know, figure out I had any musical ability or anything like that,” he explained. “I... asked for it. And I got it.”

“No, I mean... how do you ask for something like that? Who do you ask?”

“I asked Him,” Boomer said, and Bubbles gasped and shot out of her seat, sending the chair clattering to the ground.

“What?” she said, her voice tiny and her expression horrified. Boomer looked up at her, confused by her reaction.

“What's wrong?”

“You asked _Him_ for your ability?” she asked, panic rising in her.

“Yeah.”

“How... when? When did you ask?”

“I guess... when I was eleven or so. Before we left Townsville.”

“He took something in return, didn't he? Did he take something of yours?”

Boomer shook his head. “He said he'd just ask a favor of me later—”

“Oh my God,” Bubbles gasped, covering her mouth and feeling tears welling in her eyes. “Boomer, how could you do that?!”

“I thought... I thought you thought it was cool, just a second ago,” he said, uncomprehending.

“Before I knew that you made a deal with Him for it!” she cried, unable to look around them, at all the instruments Boomer had played with borrowed ability, borrowed talent from the Devil. “How could you do that?! Don't you—don't you know what He could do to you?”

“You don't think I can take care of myself?” he said, a little offended.

“It's not a matter of whether you can take care of yourself or not!” she shrieked. “That's not going to matter when He—”

The distant sound of sirens cut her off, and after a frantic few moments the both of them stole out of the store, flying well away into the sky and taking cover behind a cloud. Boomer looked sullen and hurt. Bubbles almost felt sorry for him, but she was too upset with worry.

“Why did you make a deal like that?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to be good at something,” he bit out, a little emotional. “I... you know, Brick was the guy with the plan, and Butch was the guy with the violent streak, and I...” He was staring down at the city below them, biting his lip and shaking his head. “I had nothing. Nobody had anything special to say about me. Except that I was stupid.”

Bubbles' gaze softened as she took his words in. “Oh, Boomer.”

“So I wanted... so I thought about it, and thought it'd be really cool if I could play an instrument and sing. I didn't really care about being smart, or tough, you know. I didn't... think I could compete with my brothers when it came to those things, anyway. And I thought with Him being, you know, all-powerful and all...” He trailed off, then, a little bitterly, “I thought you liked it.”

She came close, touched his face. “I like _you_.”

“You got angry about it,” he mumbled, still staring at their feet.

“Because I'm worried about you,” she said, touching her forehead to his. “You know? I just don't want anything to happen to you.”

Boomer glanced at her, then sighed. She almost didn't want to ask it of him. But she had no other bright ideas. It probably wouldn't matter, but it would at least make her feel better. A little. She gave him a soft little kiss on the lips.

“Boomer,” she whispered. “You should stop playing and singing.”

He jerked away from her. “What?!”

“You... you should stop,” she repeated, sadness in her eyes as she tried to make him see. “It's like... the more you do it, the more you're going to owe Him when He finally comes to collect.”

He looked around helplessly. “How do you know?”

“I don't.”

“I don't want to!”

“I know,” she said quietly, tears welling up. She didn't know how else to make this better. He'd already gotten his ability from Him. He'd already been using it, all these years. And Him still hadn't come for Boomer, which only made her wonder how horrible it was going to be when He did..

“Boomer, please,” she said, grasping at him and forcing him to look her in the eye. “For me. Please?”

He stared at her as she clenched at his hair, her tears cutting tracks down her cheeks.

***

“He quit the band?!” Buttercup gasped, incredulous.

“Fucker doesn't show up for an entire week to practice, comes in and plays everything _perfectly_ , and then ruins my God damn Monday by waking me up at like one in the morning to tell me he's quitting!” Mitch exclaimed.

“Dude,” Butch said. “Them's tough breaks.”

“Did he give you a reason?” Buttercup asked.

“No. He was bitching about needing to spend time with Bubbles before, though.” Mitch groaned and thumped his head against the lunch table. “Fucking great. I don't know, I think Floyd and Lloyd and I are just going to give it a rest. You know? Fuck it. It's our senior year, anyway. It's as good a time to go out as any.”

Butch glanced at Buttercup, who looked a little melancholy. She hadn't been with them for almost a year, but obviously she still felt some ties to No Neck Joe.

“That sucks, man,” she said as the bell rang and they started to gather up their stuff. All three of them had a free block now, but Buttercup couldn't hang out—she was heading to Volleyball practice early. They said their goodbyes and split.

Butch withheld a sigh when he walked into their apartment, glad that Brick was better and back at school. Coming home to his brother and Blossom in the living room for nearly a week had been kind of a mood killer, and he was glad for the lack of it now. He rummaged through his drawers for his stash of weed, then discovered a most troubling thing: he was out.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” he muttered. He hadn't been smoking that much, had he? He checked his pockets, then the pockets of his other jeans. Damn. He was definitely out. He groaned and flopped back on his bed. After a second, he flipped onto his stomach and searched for his phone, scrolling to Mitch's number.

“Hey, man,” he said once Mitch had picked up. “Help a guy out, would you?”

***

Mitch was busy running errands or something for his mom, so Butch couldn't head over until it was almost dark. He played games until then, and once Mitch called and told him where he lived Butch dashed over.

“Dude, I really appreciate this,” Butch said as he landed in Mitch's trailer park.

“Don't mention it,” Mitch said, leading him inside. He waved at an old thing planted in front of the TV—Butch assumed it was a person, but it didn't move, so he wasn't sure—and then opened the door to his room. After closing them both inside, Mitch dug for a tin under his bed.

“You are a lifesaver,” Butch said, slapping some bills into Mitch's hand as he handed over almost half of his stash.

“I try,” he said as he pocketed the money and returned his tin to the cavern under the bed. Butch looked around.

“Mitch, I’m not saying so to offend, but you kinda live in a shithole,” he laughed, nudging a water-damaged stack of magazines over with his foot.

“Fuck you too, man,” Mitch said, opening up a mini-fridge and popping the top off a soda. “You want one?” Butch held up his hand and Mitch tossed him a can. “You fucking spill that on my floor and I’ll kick your ass.”

“You and what army?” Butch snorted. He pressed the cold can to his forehead and sighed. “You at least have an A/C in here or something?”

“You cry like a bitch, you know that? In all the times she’s been over, Buttercup never complained as much as you have, and this is barely your first visit.”

Butch had started to sit on the bed, then suddenly shot up. “Speaking of, when was the last time you washed your sheets?”

Mitch flipped him off. “Less than a year ago, jackass. Go to hell. For what it’s worth, we never did anything like that.”

“You do anything worth talking about?”

Mitch scoffed. “Nah. It wouldn’t have done us any good. Whatever that means.” He shrugged, fixated on a dusty shelf. “We weren’t _that_ into each other.” A weird moment passed, during which Butch broke the silence by finally popping open his can of soda.

“So,” he started—

“ _Mitch_!” a woman’s voice suddenly shrieked.

“What?!” screamed Mitch, making Butch wince.

“Come give me a hand!”

“With what?!”

“ _Just come give me a hand_!”

“God damn—” Mitch groaned and thunked his soda down on the desk. “I’ll be right back, man. _Don’t fuck anything up while I’m gone_.”

“Whatever.” Butch watched him go, then turned back to study the room. Metal and punk rock posters littered the walls. From the look of them, they might have been put up just to hold the walls together in the first place. CDs, DVDs, and magazines covered every other available surface in the room—shelves, the desk, the floor, the bed. Butch’s eyes trailed across the chaos of wrinkled paper and cracked plastic sinking into the rug. Dust and old water spots—Butch imagined the place leaked, which might explain the smell—had accumulated _everywhere_. The only pristine thing in the room was Mitch’s bass guitar, perched carefully in a corner and nestled between a tiny amp and a bookcase, of which only half a shelf was dedicated to books at all.

Butch wandered over to Mitch's desk, where his PC sat. Mitch had an old CRT monitor—seriously, that thing was _ancient—_ hooked up to a struggling unit under the desk. It was on the screensaver, and Butch nudged the mouse. The screen flickered to Mitch's desktop, and Butch sipped at his soda while scanning the names of the files and folders. He paused and squinted, his naturally sharp eyes picking up on something amiss. It took him a moment to place. Where everything was labeled mostly intelligibly—band, school, pics—there was one folder titled absolute gibberish, a random selection of letters and numbers. Butch pursed his lips and looked back at the door, then double-clicked on the folder. A little window popped up prompting him to enter a password. Ha. He'd just discovered Mitch's porn collection. Butch wondered if he had anything good in there.

He heard a thump and snapped his head up, eyes on the door. He could still hear Mitch on the other side of the trailer, grumbling about something or another while Ms. Mitchelson griped at him to stop complaining. Apparently he was still occupied. Butch looked around and discovered a stack of blank CD-Rs under the desk.

It was only one folder, so it took no time at all to burn. After extracting his fresh CD from the drive and taking the desktop back to its screensaver, Butch located an album to borrow and hid the burned CD in it under the actual disc just before Mitch returned.

“Hey. Sorry, man, gotta kick you out.”

Butch downed the rest of his soda and crushed his can. “'S cool,” he said, tossing it into the overflowing wastebasket, then held up the case in his hands. “Hey. Mind if I borrow this?”

***

Butch arrived at home to find Brick in the living room. Alone. He could hear Boomer rustling in his own room, behind the closed door.

They grunted at each other, and Butch retreated to his room to partake of his drugs. He tossed the album on his bed, figuring he'd get to it later, maybe after a hit or two.

There was a dim booming sound from outside, and Butch looked out of his window as he opened it, peering through the darkness. Huge clouds of smoke billowed out from what looked like downtown Townsville, near City Hall.

“Huh,” he said, lighting up.

***

Brick, meanwhile, wandered back into his own room and sat on the edge of his bed. It had been a weird day. They'd actually kinda talked to each other, which was weird—they'd gotten used to talking to each other here, at his place, but at school... Well, since they'd gotten so into the habit of yelling at each other at school, it was just weird to have a civil conversation there. He nudged the carpet with his foot absentmindedly, trying not to think about it too much.

A distant boom in the city drew his attention. He looked up, frowning, then opened the blinds to see a large plume of smoke rising from the center of downtown.

“ _Mwahahahahahaha_!”

His superhearing picked up on Mojo's familiar laugh, and he watched as three streaks of pink, blue, and green shot out of the suburbs and towards the very heart of Townsville.

***

“We were wondering when you'd show up again, Mojo,” Blossom said, staring up at him in a newer, more updated version of the last Giant Robo Jojo they'd destroyed.

“Aw,” he cooed. “Are you actually saying that you missed me?”

Buttercup yawned, and Bubbles chirped, “A little.”

“I'm sure! Because an evil mastermind such as myself would indeed provide you with some much needed excitement in this _stuuuuupid city_ , with its _stuuuuupid_ people, not to mention the regular promise of a challenging fight, much in the way that dogs need to be exercised—”

“Did you just call us ' _dogs_?'” Blossom exclaimed, offended.

“Whatever,” Buttercup announced, throwing her arms up. “Can we get this over with? I had a long day of practice and I've got more tomorrow morning, so let's cut your Mojo-logue down tonight and just get to the part where we kick your ass!”

“ _Language_!” Blossom and Mojo screeched at her.

“Buttercup, I know this is a fight, but that's no excuse!” Blossom scolded.

Mojo shook his fist at her. “While I may be a villain, I do expect a certain amount of respect, courtesy, politeness, even from you, my most _haaaated_ enemies, so zip up that insolent little foul mouth of yours and learn some respectful English!” He paused to consider. “You do have a point, however.”

And with this he punched a giant button, and a deep rumbling occurred. Suddenly, out of the darkness emerged countless more Giant Robo Jojos, flocking to their master and surrounding the girls.

“Wow,” Bubbles said, looking around. “Someone's been a busy little monkey lately.” Buttercup made a face.

“Excuse me, but where the fuck were you hiding these things?!”

“Buttercup!” Blossom shot her a warning glance.

“Wash your mouth!” Mojo said, and shot her in the face. Before Blossom and Bubbles could retaliate in their sister's defense, he fired at them, too, knocking them both to the ground.

“Oh, Mojo, you are in for it,” Buttercup seethed, wiping the remnants of the black liquid away and pulling herself to her feet. Blossom stared at the dark fluid sinking into the asphalt and a dim horror welled up in her. She recognized it. She recognized the smell. She heard a sudden whirring sound as Mojo powered up his laser, and she scrambled to her feet, tackling Buttercup out of the way as he fired right where she'd been standing. They hit the asphalt, and it actually hurt a lot.

“What are you doing?!” Buttercup cried, trying to push her sister off, then pausing as she caught sight of her scraped hand, gravel dug in amongst the red.

“ _Mwahahahahahaha_!”

“Mojo, you _cheater_!” Buttercup snarled.

_Where did he get more Antidote X_? Blossom thought frantically to herself. The Professor kept it under guarded lock and key in the lab, heavily protected, and he was supposed to be the only one who could even create it. Mojo hadn't successfully stolen any for the past few years, and if anything, that stealth fighter they'd faced at the beach would've sapped any reserves he'd had of it dry.

“Whoo! Excellent aim, was it not, Powerpuff Girls? And good, that it was excellent, as that was the final drops, the absolute end, the very last of my Antidote X stores.” He sneered and maneuvered the robot into a crouch, so his perch in the head of his Robo Jojo—a robot fashioned after his likeness, naturally—came level with them. “Got you out of the way as quickly as possible! Incidentally, you now also have the perfect front row seat to witness my complete, finite, ultimate takeover of Townsville, and then, of the _woooorld_!”

Buttercup glared at him, cackling behind his glass. Then she drew her fist back and punched it, hard. The clear surface cracked, just slightly. Mojo ceased his laughter.

“ _Hey_!”

“Didn't improve your glass much, I see,” she grumbled, and brought her fist back again. The Robo Jojo stood and swiped her away, knocking her against the leg of another.

“Buttercup!” Blossom and Bubbles dashed over to help her up.

“Well, girls, it has—as you young people say—been _real_. But I have more important, grown-up duties to attend to. Like _taking over Townsville_! _Mwahahahahahaha_!” He began to pilot his Robo Jojo away, and the rest of his robots began to disperse as well. Most of them. The girls stared up at the few that didn't move, the few that stayed right where they were, bearing down on them. Bubbles swallowed.

“Um, five. We can take five, right?”

“We can take five hundred,” Buttercup snarled.

“No,” Blossom said matter-of-factly, fearlessly, despite her panicked, racing heartbeat. “Not like this. We can't take any.”

“That's—” Buttercup started, but then one of the robots raised its foot, and the girls had to scatter as it smashed down, crushing the asphalt where they'd stood.

“Not cool not cool not cool!” Bubbles cried as the rest of the Robo Jojos followed suit, doing an odd, robotic dance of sorts as they all tried to squash them. Blossom dodged one foot after the other, then looked off into the distance at the sound of a crash, gasping.

“They're destroying the city!” she cried.

“No duh!” Buttercup snapped. “What the fuck do you think he made them for?!”

“We have to get back to the lab!” Blossom shouted.

“ _We're all the way on the other side of town_!” Buttercup shrieked.

“Well, do _you_ have any bright ideas, Buttercup?!” Blossom yelled back. “I don't see _you_ suggesting anything!”

Buttercup drew up to her as she fled another robot, glaring. “I suggest we fucking _fight back_!”

“ _Watch your language when you talk to me_!”

“Both of you _cut it out_!” Bubbles snapped, snatching them both by the arm and dashing them out of the way of another foot. She tripped on the upturned asphalt and they all took a spill, hitting the ground once again. Buttercup hissed as her injured hand ate more gravel.

Bubbles moaned, “Having no powers sucks. And it hurts, too.”

Blossom pulled herself up to her feet, looking up in dismay as they were surrounded by the five Robo Jojos. The clicking and powering up of five lasers all at once was almost deafening. Bubbles stood up beside her, gripping her hand.

“Blossom,” she whispered, her fear and uncertainty evident. “What do we do?”

_We might be able to dodge them,_ Blossom thought. If they ran, right as the robots fired, they could steal between the legs...

A bright glow built up in the well of the laser, and Buttercup instinctively moved to the front, her shoulders tensing.

“As soon as they fire, girls,” Blossom whispered. “Run for it.” She started counting down in her head, trying to be calm, to think straight, to not panic. _One... two_...

“ _Run_!” she screamed, the very instant the lasers sounded, and the girls broke.

She saw Bubbles trip and scream, but before she could turn to help she hit something hard, face first, and stumbled backwards to the ground.

_We're done for_ , she thought helplessly, but when death proved to be nowhere near as painful as she expected, she blinked and slowly looked up, and discovered what she'd run into.

A green, flickering dome surrounded them. To the side, Boomer was gripping Bubbles' hand—she hadn't tripped, she had been snatched out of the way. He was glaring at the remains of one of the robots outside the dome, cut to pieces. In his other hand flickered an immense, crackling blue sword. Outside the dome the last vestiges of a bright red flash were already fading, the other four robots lying still and dismembered on the ground. Butch lowered his arms, smirking at the girls, and the shield flickered off.

“Aw, girls,” Butch said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Look at the mess you got yourselves into.”

“Shut up, Butch,” Buttercup snarled.

He was undeterred; almost giddy. “Looks like you'll have to let the boys handle this one!”

Blossom stared at Brick as he hovered, looking down at the robots he'd just destroyed before turning and meeting her eyes. Beyond him, Mojo's cackle echoed in the distance.

_-end Ch. 8-_


	11. Monday Broke My Heart, or Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: Thanks to mathkid and juxtaposie who are the best. Around. Nothing's ever gonna keep 'em down.

**More Than Human, Pt. 2 – Senior Fall Semester  
September – Monday Broke My Heart,** or **Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night**  
 _-sbj-_

“If one of you flies us back, we can get our powers back and come help you—”

“Waste of time.” Brick dismissed Blossom's idea as a _boom_ resounded in the distance. “It'll be quicker for the three of us to wipe them out ourselves.”

“How many of them are there?” Bubbles asked.

“I'd estimate just over a hundred,” Brick replied.

“Okay, I repeat: where the hell was Mojo hiding those things?” Buttercup said in disbelief.

Brick looked at Blossom and said, “You three need to get somewhere safe in the meantime.”

“I'll take them,” Boomer said, his hand gripping Bubbles'.

“Butch has the shield,” Brick pointed out.

“Wasn't by choice,” Butch muttered.

Another crash echoed, followed by Mojo's laughter, and Blossom winced and said, “We'll be fine. Just, all three of you, hurry and go!”

Brick hesitated. Then he turned to his brothers.

“Butch, I'm giving you this section here. Boomer, take this end. I'll take the middle.” He glanced back at Blossom. “Whoever wipes out their guys first will come back for the girls and carry them home.”

“We'll be moving,” Blossom said.

“We'll find you,” Brick responded, and she went warm.

“Now be good little damsels-in-distress and don't get your pretty little selves hurt,” Butch cooed, and Buttercup and Blossom bristled at him.

“What?!” they both snapped, murder in their eyes. In the background, Bubbles gave Boomer a kiss for luck.

“Butch, quit dicking around.” Brick's eyes skipped over Blossom one last time before turning to the city.

Something occurred to her, and she said, “Brick!”

He looked back, his expression bewildered but oddly expectant. “Yes?”

“Try to minimize the damage to the city,” she said. “As best you can.”

He stared at her a moment before turning away again. “We'll try. Alright, boys. Let's roll.”

The girls watched the boys take off in a burst of colored light. Finally, Blossom started running in the direction of home.

“Hurry, girls. We need to get somewhere safe.”

“What's the use?” Buttercup grumbled, but she fell into a run beside Blossom anyway. “All the danger's moving that way.”

“Danger moves in more than one direction, Buttercup,” Blossom sighed.

Bubbles glanced back over her shoulder as she ran. “Do you think they'll be okay?”

“I hope Butch won't,” Buttercup snarled. “I hope he gets punched in the sack.”

“Buttercup!” Blossom snapped.

“I do,” Buttercup said, unapologetic. “That testosterone-stuffed idiot.” Her eyes darkened. “I'm nobody's fucking damsel-in-distress.”

“The streets are so empty,” Blossom said. “We need to call the Mayor and tell him people need to be evacuated!”

As Bubbles tugged out her phone and dialed, a sudden crash distracted them, and they rounded a corner to see a guy leaping out the window of an electronics store with a TV in hand.

“For real?!” Buttercup cried, indignant. Often during monster attacks, some idiots would attempt to loot the city in the ensuing mayhem.

Her exclamation caught the guy's attention, and he froze upon spotting the Girls.

“Put it down, jackass!” Buttercup bellowed, and naturally the guy went running off in the other direction. She swore and bolted after him.

“Buttercup! We have to—oh, geez.” Blossom groaned and pulled at Bubbles, who had just finished her phone call. “Come on!”

***

Brick took his time destroying the robots. It wasn't that he was reluctant to, or that he felt some warped alliance to the side of villainy. He'd purposely chosen this section because he'd heard Mojo's cackle echo in this direction. Brick wanted to talk to him. He figured it wasn't much of a shot, but he had nothing to lose just by asking...

He wouldn't be going after the girls. He'd known that even when he'd said one of the boys would go back for them. It was the perfect opportunity for him to go out and seek Mojo. Butch was out; he'd be having too much fun destroying things. That left Boomer, who—with the way he'd volunteered almost instantly to take the girls home, along with the wounded puppy expression he kept fixating on Bubbles—would wipe out the robots in his area as fast as possible so he could get back and haul them off to safety. His brothers were so obvious about these things.

Brick blasted through another three, hearing Mojo's familiar laughter echoing back, closer now. He wondered if the chimp even knew he was here.

***

Buttercup took off after the burglar so quickly that within the matter of a few blocks her sisters lost her. She didn't turn to see how well they were keeping up; she had an idea how well since she could hear their footsteps falling further and further behind. Buttercup was so athletic that even without powers, breaking into a full run and keeping that energy up wasn't an issue for her. She almost liked it. The way the cement rose up to catch her feet as they pounded against it, drove her closer and closer to her target... The sound of her breath, just hers, panting, flooding her senses so that it was the only noise she registered...

He was a damn good runner, but she was closing in and had one good sprint left in her. She snatched up the lid to a trash can as her feet hammered the pavement, took aim, and flung it like a Frisbee. It didn't have far to go; it knocked into the back of the guy's head and he stumbled, fell. The TV screen shattered as it hit the ground, and Buttercup grabbed the lid again, whacking the guy in the jaw with it as he tried to stand. He fell back, groaning, and then lay still.

There was a stitch beginning to twist in her side as she panted for breath, and after a moment's consideration she dragged him against the wall of the building and called the police to tell them where to collect him. She glanced back down the street as she closed her phone. She must've run her ass off. Her sisters were nowhere to be seen.

She was rubbing at her side and starting back in the direction she'd come from when a giant robot crashed into the street, sending up chunks of flying asphalt. Buttercup backed against the wall and shielded herself. Thankfully, nothing hit her. She realized, though, that that was the least of her problems, as the Robo Jojo stood and caught sight of her, then started lumbering toward her.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

She was just about to turn and start into another run for it when a bright sheet of green sparks shot down vertically, slicing the robot's outstretched arms off. Buttercup watched as they crashed to the ground, and another sheet came down and sliced the robot right down the middle, neatly in half, and that too collapsed in a shower of gnarled metal and flying sparks.

“I thought you were supposed to run away home, princess.”

Buttercup glared at Butch. “I'm going to rip you a new one.”

His eyes glittered at the threat. “Kinky! Sounds like fun.”

A few robots had pursued him and were now catching up; Buttercup caught sight of them over his shoulder. “Look—”

Before they fired Butch was in the air, blasting his eyebeams. A couple went down, but a couple more stayed up, and one of them began to power up its laser.

Butch jetted off over the roof of the building Buttercup was standing by, and the laser fired a deafening ray at him, skimming the top of the structure. Bricks smashed on the sidewalk at Buttercup's feet, and she glanced up to see an impending rain of heavy things—heavy things she didn't want falling towards her—falling towards her.

“God damn it, God damn it, God damn it,” she said between gritted teeth as she ran off—fuck, she couldn't go in front, the robots were already in the street, advancing. She turned into the debris, glancing up to dodge it as best she could. Concrete ricocheted off the streets as she ran, and something rammed into her shoulder blade, but she ignored the pain and kept running for safety—

A huge piece of debris shot into the ground in front of her, cutting off her path. She was running too fast; she stuck her arms out to lessen the impact but it still hurt when she ran into it, and she fell back against the sidewalk. Buttercup could hear more concrete coming down, and she hunched into a ball, covering her head with her arms and praying this wasn't her moment to go.

Something scooped her up, and she had the faint sensation that she was moving, but as if she were in a car, shut off from the outside. The sound seemed off, too—dimmer, further away. She uncurled to find herself riding in a green sphere, being commanded by Butch.

His voice was muffled but still discernible. “I gotta tell you, Buttercup, you're playing right into this whole 'Rescue the Princess' mission we've got going on tonight.”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

Butch was flying back towards the two remaining robots that had attacked, and he sneered as he spun in the air, bringing the sphere holding Buttercup around and crashing into the head of one of them. Buttercup banged around on the inside, her head ringing. It almost felt like being in a car accident, except without a seatbelt, much less a seat, to cushion the blow. She could already feel bruises forming as she stared down at the decapitated Robo Jojo lying prone in the street. Butch took care of the second with his eyebeams, then grinned at Buttercup.

She glared at him through the green. “I'm gonna _kill_ you, Butch.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said, and headed back for his section of still-rampaging robots with a shielded Buttercup in tow.

***

“Where did she _go_?!” Blossom cried, exasperated and heaving for breath. She stopped, her hands braced against her knees. How far had they run? Were they even heading towards Buttercup anymore?

“Think she caught him?” Bubbles asked, leaning on her sister as she too gulped at the air.

A commotion boomed a few blocks away, and the girls looked up to see Butch dodge a laser cresting the roof of a building.

“Bubbles!” Boomer landed, his relief evident as Bubbles came up and threw her arms around him.

“That was quick,” she said, impressed.

“I had the right motivation,” he replied, his gaze catching on Blossom. “Where's Buttercup?”

Blossom was interrupted by Butch as he flew up to them. “Hey! Fancy seeing you guys here!”

Blossom ignored him and said to Boomer, “She ran off. I don't know where she is.”

“Who, Buttercup?” Butch pointed back where he'd come from, where two Robo Jojos were lumbering around. “I just saw her over there.

The girls stared at him, then Blossom shrieked, “You _left her_ there?!”

Butch blinked. “Oh. Yeah, guess that was a bad idea. I'll go get her.”

“You'd better!” Blossom snarled as he took off.

“Okay, how are we going to do this?” Boomer held his arms out to either side and looked at the two girls he was going to have to carry.

In the end he wound up with one girl on each side, his arms wrapped around their waists to hold them in place—Blossom blushed, embarrassed by the close contact—and after they worked out the mechanics of how to create a sort of human safety belt—Bubbles and Blossom gripped each other's arms, woven around Boomer's shoulders, and also wound their legs around Boomer's to keep from dangling—he took off.

“I feel like I'm wearing some sort of girl armor,” he remarked once they were in the air. “It's weird.”

He was flying pretty fast; Blossom asked him to slow down a little lest the girls lose their grip and fall.

“I'd catch you,” he assured them.

“You're missing the point,” she said. “I don't want to fall in the first place.”

“They've got a perimeter set up already,” Bubbles said. Sure enough, flashing blue and red police car lights created a barrier sectioning off the un-safe zone. A number of citizens looked up and waved.

There were a couple of news helicopters in the distance approaching the girls and Boomer. Soon enough the helicopters passed over them. The girls tightened their hold and hunched their shoulders up. The whirring of the blades was so loud it almost hurt.

Blossom glanced over Boomer's shoulder and gasped. “What are they doing?!”

“What they always do,” Bubbles said, but she too looked worried. The two helicopters were flying right for the carnage, headed towards the remaining Robo Jojos.

“Stop,” Blossom said as she watched them approach the battle, a glowing red streak weaving amongst the giant robots.

Boomer paused, confused. “'Stop?'”

“I mean them—” Blossom started, then cut off with a gasp as sure enough, a wayward Robo Jojo's arm collided with the blades of one helicopter, sending it crashing on the top of a building.

“Oh my gosh,” Bubbles whispered.

“Boomer, head back!” Blossom cried.

“What?”

“We have to help them!”

Boomer seemed a little thrown by what amounted to an order that didn't come from his leader, but he obeyed. It was clear he regretted it, as the helicopter had landed dangerously close to the action, and his grip tightened around Bubbles as they drew near.

He set them down on the roof where the one helicopter had landed. The second was exercising a little more caution now and hovering a decent distance away.

The cacophony of power blasts and whirring metal was threatening in its near proximity. Blossom ignored it as Boomer set her down. He still clung to Bubbles even as she tried to pull away.

Blossom scurried to the helicopter—overturned, its sides damaged from the impact—and counted two, no, three people inside. She tried to pry the door open, but it was severely dented and wouldn't budge. She looked back at Boomer.

“I could use someone with powers,” she said, kind of irritated that he hadn't come up on his own, and after a moment's contemplation he let go of Bubbles and dashed up. Blossom had him cut through the metal, and then the three of them tugged the trapped passengers out. One of them was conscious but had suffered a concussion.

“We should take these guys to safety,” Blossom said as Bubbles piled them onto Boomer.

“I guess you guys can grab onto my legs or something,” he said. “I'm not used to carrying around piles of people like you two.”

“Yeah,” Blossom said, glancing up at the few Robo Jojos left, only blocks away.

As if on cue, Brick was suddenly whacked by one of them, and he came hurtling towards Boomer and the girls. He struck the helicopter, sending it screaming across the rooftop to the other end, and Boomer grabbed Bubbles and had to take off to get out of the way.

Blossom wasn't so lucky. She got hit by the helicopter's tail fin in her midsection and found herself being shoved off the edge of the roof; Brick had hit it at such a speed. She grabbed the fin just as her feet scrabbled off of the concrete and then she was overcome with a sudden fear of her own mortality as she dangled some ten stories off the ground. The helicopter caught on an air conditioning unit, jerking to an abrupt stop that nearly made her lose her grip.

She almost missed Brick falling to the ground. She gasped, looked down, then instantly looked back up, wishing she hadn't. The sound of him hitting the asphalt put a sick feeling in her gut—she knew he had superpowers, but still...

The helicopter groaned and began to overbalance, and a jolt of panic surged through her.

“No no no no no,” she whispered, pleaded, and still she felt the world moving too fast around her as the tail fin swung down, arcing her towards the outside wall of the building...

Right through an open window. She couldn't believe her luck.

As soon as she was inside she released her death grip on the helicopter and threw herself to the floor, reveling in its stability. She heard the helicopter whiz down and crash against the street. She wondered for a frantic second if Brick had gotten out of the way in time.

“Blossom?”

She looked up to find a teenage boy—he looked familiar, he must have been a student at Townsville High—kneeling at her side. It looked as if she'd landed in his living room. His parents were looking over the back of their couch at her. A small girl's head peeked up from between them.

“Are you alright?” he asked, then, after a moment's hesitation, touched her arm.

She brought her hand up to sweep her hair out of her face, a gesture with the slight purpose of shying away from his touch.

“I'm... fine,” she said, then a thought occurred to her. “Why haven't they evacuated you guys?”

He shrugged. “We've seen a lot of these. Monster fights, I mean. The building's pretty sturdy. It's never come down once, despite all the attacks.”

He almost sounded arrogant about it, which annoyed Blossom. They were putting their lives in danger! And they had a little one!

As if sensing her anger, the boy said, “Don't worry, we'll be fine. Nobody in this building ever evacuates anymore—”

“ _What_?!” Blossom cried, incensed.

A crash resounded from outside, almost deafening and so near that it shook the building. Blossom glared at the boy as he dashed to the mantel to rescue some falling picture frames.

“Old hat,” he shrugged, holding up his armful of pictures to punctuate his statement.

She started, “You guys should—”

Metal against metal screamed from outside the window, interrupting her, and Blossom looked up to find Brick smashing into the heart of the Robo Jojo that had emerged. He soared out the other end, leaving a sparking hole in the robot's center, and as it fell another dashed up to take its place. Without skipping a beat, Brick zigzagged around its limbs, slicing them off with his eyebeams. Within moments only the torso remained, and before it could fall he roundhouse kicked it into the sky, sending it flying off into the distance.

Brick then hovered, staring off into the night sky where the Robo Jojo had disappeared, a mere glint in the deep, endless darkness. He was framed perfectly in the window's center, and then the wind picked up, and Blossom's heart skipped a beat.

Blossom had never had to deal much with other people being heroic and actually living up to the hero part of it. Watching Brick now—Brick, who had just bested two giant robots, and more before that, and probably more still to come, and it wasn't like she couldn't have done that with superpowers, but that was neither here nor there—put a strange sort of pull in her chest, a want to see him fight more, do more, to continue to look heroic and be heroic, because... it suited him.

She watched the wind tug at his shirt, his hair—long even for him, but attractive, still—and thought he should stop hovering in the wind like that. Better to be inside, here, with her.

He took off, and Blossom stood as he disappeared from her sight. Smoke from the first robot Brick had felled billowed up and began drifting into the window. She backed away, covering her mouth and fanning the air.

“Um, can we get you anything?”

She looked over at the guy setting the family picture frames down on the coffee table. “Oh! No, no, I'll be going—and so should you all, actually—”

A faint, low cackle started up from outside the window, and Blossom looked back at the smoke. There wasn't a lot, but it was thick. It cleared for the briefest moment to reveal Mojo Jojo in his own Giant Robo Jojo, looming. She stiffened, afraid he'd spotted her, but no, his attention was elsewhere...

She saw the reflection of Brick's back in the glass of the giant robot, fighting off the few Robo Jojos that remained, and watched as Mojo readied an arsenal of weaponry that popped out from behind his robot's shoulders. Then the smoke pushed up again, blocking him from her vision.

“ _Bri_ —” she tried to cry out, but she had drifted closer to the smoke without realizing it, and the lungful she inhaled sent her into a violent coughing fit. She couldn't warn him, and Mojo was about to fire—

Firm hands clasped her arms and started guiding her away from the smoke. “Blossom, come on, let me get you some water...”

As the guy pulled her along, she saw his mother fanning it back with a magazine and his father moving to close the window.

“No,” she croaked, still struggling for breath. “Not yet!” Then she spotted a throw on the couch.

She threw him off her and bolted for the window, snatching the throw on the way. The father instinctively backed off when he saw her coming, and she wound the blanket over her shoulders, wrapping up her arms, and entertained only the briefest flutter of fear before her foot hit the sill and she catapulted herself into the open air.

In the instant the smoke cleared away from her vision she spotted Mojo, still there, who turned to gape at the girl he'd previously rendered helpless on the ground as she shielded her face with her arms and came crashing through the glass.

Blossom hit the floor and rolled, tossed the throw off of her, and dashed toward Mojo. Recognizing her intention, he turned back to his control panel and grabbed one switch to maneuver the robot and another to fire his weapons. She fumbled for his cape and yanked, causing him to not only overbalance the robot, which went stumbling back and nearly crashed into another building, but also to inadvertently pull the switch for his arsenal, which blasted high, aimlessly, into the sky.

“ _Rrrrgh_!” he seethed, right before Blossom punched him.

“Ow ow ow,” she whined as she pulled back, flapping her hand. “I didn't realize how much that's supposed to hurt!”

“Are you actually fighting me without the use of your superpowers?” he said, making a face.

She tensed. “What's with _that_ tone? I could take you, superpowers or no.”

“Oh, in that case,” he said, then produced a really big gun from behind his back.

“Buttercup has a point,” Blossom said. “Where do you hide these things?”

“You'll never know, because it is a secret, and I, for one, will never tell you, it being a secret, as you know, and also due to the fact that even if it were not a secret I would still not choose to tell you anyway, and also because I am about to _destrooooy_ you!” Mojo cackled, and pulled the trigger. Blossom dove out of the way.

Nothing happened.

Mojo looked at his gun, then shook it, and tried firing again. The trigger clicked, clicked, clicked. Nothing.

“Are you—oh, are you kidding me?!” he wailed. “I can't believe I forgot to charge this stupid thing!”

Blossom shot towards him, but he swung his arm back and smacked her in the side of the head with his gun. There was a blinding, ringing pain at her temple when she hit the ground, and something wet trailed down her cheek. As she groaned and tried to blink the whiteness in her vision away, she felt Mojo pick her up and carry her over to the jagged hole in the glass that had been her entry point.

She gasped and twisted back so he lost his balance, and she swung him by his cape—it was handy, him having that thing on—into the wall of his machine. As he wobbled, dazed, Blossom made for the control panel.

She paused when she reached it—there were so many buttons, and levers, and some of these dumb things weren't buttons at all but just lights, and not even necessary lights, most of them were just there for decoration...

“Mojo, you have no gift for simplicity,” she muttered, then spotted a giant button to the side with the words _POWER DOWN_ adorning it. “Or subtlety.”

She struck the button, and the lights flickered off, followed by the telltale sound of a machine whirring down.

“I do not know why I continue to include those things in my inventions,” Mojo grumbled, then faltered as the Robo Jojo began to tilt.

The glass that decorated the floor made a shimmering sound as it began to slide, all to one side. Blossom gasped and grabbed onto a switch on the panel as Mojo scrambled for something to grab along the wall. Unfortunately for him, the walls provided no such salvation, and he frantically ran uphill until the angle became too steep and he fell back.

Blossom grabbed him—again, by the cape—as he fell, cutting off his scream. The arm of hers that was holding onto the switch protested the extra weight, and she suddenly felt tired, and weak...

The switch in her hand began to move, and she looked up in horror. She was hanging perpendicular to the way it moved, but with the extra weight Mojo had created...

She looked down, desperately seeking out somewhere to land, but the Robo Jojo was still a good eight stories off the ground—its fall having been stopped by another building that miraculously hadn't crumbled under the impact—and the path down was through sharp, jagged glass besides.

The switch groaned against her weight, shifting fully, and, lacking in other options, she screamed as she began to move.

Her scream stopped when she stopped. Lights began flickering back on, machinery began to whir once more, and she looked up. She'd pulled the ON switch.

“Mojo, why do you have a switch to turn the robot on and a button to turn it off?”

“Do not question the complexity of my grand designs!” he shouted. “My designs are too complicated and too intricately designed for puny brains such as yours to comprehend, so if I were to explain it to you, I would become veeeeery frustrated at your inability to process the information I was giving you—”

“Will you shut up and just grab the switch that gets this thing moving?!” she snapped. “We're both trying to survive right now; I'd say we have a mutual interest in getting this thing righted so we can actually get down!”

“Very well,” he muttered, and reached over to the panel.

Blossom furrowed her brow. “That's not the stick you were using to control it before—”

“ _Self-destruct activated_ ,” a robotic voice announced.

“Oh. Right,” Blossom said colorlessly.

“ _Mwahahahahahaha_!” Mojo cackled as the robot's voice began to count down from twenty. “Seeing as you, Blossom, Powerpuff Girl, are without your powers, and I, Mooooojo Jojo, have not been tainted by Antidote X, and seeing also as how I have an uncanny penchant for survival when faced with danger, including falling from extreme heights, getting blasted with lasers, and other such sundries that I won't get into, activating the self-destruct, while indeed promising a good degree of pain on my part, promises nothing but the sweet release of death for yourself!”

Blossom dropped him, relishing the way his maniacal cackling gave way to frantic screaming. Then she tried to think of a way to save herself.

“ _Seven... six..._ ”

_And I was doing so well, too_ , she thought glumly. At least, as well as a superhero without superpowers could do...

A beam of red light slashed into what little remained of the glass, and Blossom gasped as Brick exploded through it, snatched her, and then shielded her as he dashed her away. She heard the dim explosion of the Robo Jojo behind them as she clenched her arms around Brick's neck, feeling, despite all her heroics, very much a damsel-in-distress.

Typically this feeling wouldn't have sat well with Blossom. But the wind was blowing his hair back, riffling the collar of his shirt, and his arms were firm and steady as they cradled her, and she felt that—just this once—being a damsel-in-distress wasn't necessarily a bad thing, considering the perks.

***

Brick had just taken down the last non-Mojo containing Robo Jojo when he'd heard the scream. It was short, abrupt, and he'd been hearing lots of screams tonight, but this one stood out in that it had sounded unmistakably like...

“Blossom,” he whispered, horror flooding his senses, and he tore off through the streets, searching for her and ready to shower death upon whoever had inspired her short-lived scream. The possibility that it might have been short-lived because someone else had viciously or, worse yet, murderously cut her off entered his brain, and no, he had to stop thinking of scenarios or else he'd go ballistic when he _did_ find her...

As he rounded the corner he saw Mojo falling out of his robot—which looked like it'd taken a hell of a spill—and caught him as he shot past.

Mojo stopped screaming and stared at Brick for a second before snarling and pointing. “ _You_!”

“Where is she?!” Brick snapped, and then he heard it—the countdown to self-destruction. He halted and looked back at the Robo Jojo.

“If you are talking about who I think you are talking about, which would make you a traitor, then I am happy to inform you that you are too _laaaaaaaaaaate_...”

Brick had dropped Mojo and was now hurtling back towards the robot, the wind screaming past. He built up a beam in his hand and sliced into the glass, his eyes already locked on her, his arms already outstretched. He wrapped his arms around her, a favor she gratefully returned, and shot away, his immense relief giving way to anger.

He could see his brothers' streaks in the distance and decided to find an empty space to land. Butch was circling a deserted street corner, the smoldering remains of several Robo Jojos beneath him, and there Brick touched down, not letting himself notice how Blossom didn't immediately jump off. She remained curled against his chest, her grip almost tightening around his shoulders.

There was a gash on the side of her head, it was bleeding, and Brick was enraged.

“ _I thought I told you to get to safety_!” he shouted, still holding her.

Her grip loosened and she blinked at him in utter confusion. “What?”

“What the hell, what the _fucking hell_ were you doing in Mojo Jojo's God damn _robot_?!”

“ _Stop cursing at me_!” she snapped, and her hands, formerly clasped around his shoulders, shoved at his chest. She stumbled back on the ground, her eyes glazing over, and he grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.

“And you're dizzy from losing blood, besides! Why didn't you listen to me?!”

She blinked her eyes into focus and glared at him, trying to jerk her arm away. They sensed their siblings landing nearby and ignored them.

“There were people I needed to help!”

“There are _always_ people you need to help! What about you?! It's one thing when you're putting yourself in danger and all a twenty-story fall is going to do is stun you for a second, but when you're vulnerable? When you're _helpless_?”

“I am not helpless!”

“You could've fucking died!”

“What do _you_ care?!”

“ _I told you to get to somewhere safe_!”

“You know, that's the last time I try to save _your_ stupid life! If all you're going to do is curse and shout at me—”

“ _What could you possibly have done to save my life_?! _I'm the one with the superpowers_!”

“Um,” Boomer interrupted, raising his hand—

“ _Shut up_!” Brick and Blossom screamed at him in unison.

Bubbles comforted her boyfriend as he pouted. Brick cut Blossom off before she could start again.

“You lost your powers, you nearly got crushed—no, you shut up and listen to me—you've got a fucking hole in your head, and I found you dangling from a God damn robot about to self-destruct! What were you going to do? Huh? How could you have saved yourself? What do you think, what do you fucking think would have happened if I hadn't been there?!”

She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes flashing. Now when she yanked her arm away he let go, and they resumed their habit of glaring at each other.

Some rustling attracted their attention, and they all turned to find Butch digging through some building debris on the street.

“What are you doing?” Boomer asked.

Butch mumbled something unintelligible.

“Wait a second,” Bubbles said, frowning as she looked around. “Where's Buttercup?”

Butch mumbled again.

“What?” Blossom demanded.

An unhappy Butch spoke louder. “She was with me.”

“Well, where is she now?” Blossom said, and then the answer hit her. “Oh, _no_.”

Brick stared at his brother, dumbfounded. “You didn't.”

“Yeah, um.” Butch looked up, his expression almost guilty. “I kinda dropped her.”

“ _What_?!” Blossom and Bubbles cried, horrified. They all dashed over to the rocks.

“Where did you drop her?” Brick asked.

“I can't believe you dropped her!” Blossom cried, frantic.

“Oh, God, I hope she's okay,” Bubbles whimpered.

“Gold stars, Butch,” Boomer grumbled.

“It was around here,” Butch said. “She might—might be over by the robots, too...”

“I can't believe this, I can't, oh my God, this is the worst night ever,” Blossom said to herself, trying to overturn a giant rock.

Brick pushed her back, his expression grim. “You stand over there. I've rescued you enough God damn times tonight.”

Blossom was about to launch into another tirade when they all heard a sudden shifting. They looked around and saw Buttercup emerging from the wreckage underneath a Robo Jojo, kicking away sheets of metal and broken wood.

She seemed dazed, and there was something off about her arm...

Then she grabbed it and, with a pained grimace, popped it back into place.

Bubbles covered her face and dropped to the ground. “Oh my God! Oh my God, that was so gross!”

“Dude,” Boomer said, a little awed as he rubbed his own arm and winced.

Blossom dashed up to her. “Buttercup! Are you okay?”

Buttercup was bleary, and her blinking was slow, heavy-lidded. Then she caught sight of Butch over her sister's shoulder, and her vision focused. She pushed Blossom out of the way as she broke into a staggered half-run towards him.

Butch actually looked and sounded relieved. “Dude, thank God you're—”

Buttercup cut him off by kneeing him between the legs so hard she nearly toppled over. Unfortunately, without her superpowers, this had little effect, as did the multiple kicks and punches (with her good arm) that followed. Butch just stood there, thoroughly amused as she landed several painless blows.

“This is kind of awesome,” he said, cocking his arms on his hips while his would-be attacker let loose with a string of obscenities.

“You're fucking dead, Butch!” she shouted. “Fucking _dead_! You hear me?! You hear me, you little fucking fuck?! When I get my powers back I'm going to fucking kill you!”

Butch responded by laughing in her face. She stopped, then looked at Boomer.

“I'll give you ten bucks,” she said.

Boomer immediately slugged his brother in the face. Buttercup later gave him an extra ten for the sound Butch made as he ate the asphalt.

***

“Hey, Brick, come to the darkroom with me.” Bubbles snatched Brick by the arm and, true to form, dragged him out with her before he could protest. “Have you guys started practicing yet?”

He groaned. It had been a week since the whole incident with Mojo Jojo, and what had developed between Brick and Blossom out of studying and chatting together at the boys' apartment had been undone by their fight. Now they were back to avoiding each other and not talking.

“You haven't, have you.” She chirped a, “Hello!” to the various Journalism students hanging out in the classroom, then muscled Brick into the darkroom, where she shut them in. While Brick's eyes adjusted to the dim red light, Bubbles hummed to herself as she unclipped several photos hanging from clothespins.

He made a face. “It smells like vinegar in here.”

“That's the stop-bath,” she explained, packing her photos into a box. She handed it to Brick. “Here.”

He peered inside at the photo resting on top. It was a blurry close-up of... hell, he had no idea. Somebody's arm? A chair?

“This one didn't really come out...” he said dubiously.

“No, it did,” she assured him. “They all did.”

Without asking, Brick shuffled through some of the photos. They all were unreadable, blurred images. _She must be making a collage_. But how was she going to do anything with them, they were barely—

“Here.” She piled another box on top of the first.

“What the—”

“More photos.”

“'More?''

“Come on, my dad's waiting outside with the car.” She guided him out of the darkroom, out of the Journalism room, and back into the hall.

“Why didn't you get Boomer to do this?”

“To save him and the Professor a little grief,” she explained, and tugged Brick out of the main doors. “Hi, Professor!”

“Hello, sweetheart!” he said, then sobered as he saw Brick.

“And of course you know Brick.” Bubbles took the keys from her father and skipped to the trunk.

Brick nodded around the boxes, ignoring the Professor's penetrating glare. “Sir.”

The Professor remained silent.

“Thanks for last month. That whole... thing with the AB Virus. My brothers and I really appreciated it.”

“It was a pleasure,” the Professor said, in a voice that sounded like the experience had been the exact opposite of pleasurable for him.

Brick wasn't intimidated, but he was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Without looking at the glaring, grim-faced man, Brick floated over to the back of the car, where Bubbles was shifting stuff around the trunk to make space.

“Alright, set them down. Thanks, Brick.”

He grunted. Bubbles tossed her father the keys. “Okay, Professor, let's go!”

The Professor, still eyeing Brick with all the distaste he could muster, settled into the driver's seat.

“Brick, I'll see you later.”

“Are you skipping class?”

“No, just leaving to work on my independent study project at home. I cleared it with Miss Maybury. Hey, go talk to her.”

“What could I possibly have to talk about with Miss Maybury?”

“I didn't mean her,” Bubbles sighed, as if it were obvious, then shut herself into the car and waved at him as her father drove away.

***

English was his next class, and he shared it with her.

He ate his lunch in the Art room and then left early to go to Mrs. Yang's. She had her AP English III class going, but she was a laid back teacher and allowed him to sit on the couch in the corner while she wrapped up with the Juniors.

_Talk to her_. Hmph. What was there to talk about? She'd acted an idiot. He'd heard from Boomer that they'd turned around to go help those stupid people out of their downed helicopter. Granted, they'd probably have died if she hadn't told Boomer to turn around—Brick _had_ crashed into it, after all—but then that put her life in danger. Her life, which was so much more valuable than—

He caught himself, then rationalized, _No. From an objective standpoint, her life is more valuable_. Blossom was a hero. She saved people. Three less people who could do virtually nothing to help their fellow man was not a loss compared to losing Blossom. If she was gone, how many more people would be doomed without her around to save them?

The bell rang, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he watched as the class rose and made the usual frenetic bid for the doorway. A few students lingered behind to talk to Mrs. Yang, with a couple of Seniors already filtering in.

Brick was just shifting to get off the couch and head for his seat when Blossom walked in. Their eyes caught, then hers skipped on over to her table.

_Talk to her_? Brick rolled his eyes. She didn't even want to make eye contact.

As she passed by Mrs. Yang's desk, one of the students turned and said, “Hey!”

Blossom, her attention caught, turned, then lit up in recognition. “Oh! Hey, um—”

“Robbie,” the boy supplied. “Sorry, we never got properly introduced. I mean, well, obviously I know who _you_ are.”

Brick frowned.

Caught off guard, Blossom sputtered, “Yeah, I'm—sorry about the blanket, I just—”

“No, no, don't worry about it. You really freaked us out, you know, when you jumped out of the window and did that whole crashing into Mojo's robot! You know? It was like something out of an action movie or something!”

_Is this guy seriously in AP English_? Brick thought to himself, hating the way the guy spoke.

To his displeasure Blossom blushed and said shyly, “No, that's just... you know, what I do...”

“Why did you? I mean, there was all that smoke, and you totally could've eaten it—”

“I...” Blossom's eyes flicked in Brick's direction. “I... Mojo was about to fire at somebody and I just, um... wanted to stop him.”

The guy—Robbie, that was his stupid name—grinned. “Well, that was cool of you. Props. You falling into my living room was one of the coolest things that's ever happened. My little sister can't stop talking about you!” He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic before he resumed that dopey grin. “You know, she'd love it if you dropped by... signed her arm or something, I don't know...”

Blossom laughed. “Maybe I will!”

“She'd love it, seriously. That'd be cool. Well, you know where I live, so... see you around.”

“Bye, Robbie,” she said, grinning. “Nice meeting you.”

Brick stared at the guy, who was beaming as he walked out the door. Then his eyes settled on Blossom, taking her seat.

After a tense second he stood, weaving around the other chattering students, and took a seat at her table, right next to her. She cast the briefest of glances at him, then pretended to busy herself with flipping through her papers.

Brick did the same, then cleared his throat and said, “Did you really leap out of that guy's window that night?”

She gave it a few seconds before responding. “Yes, I did.”

“Through glass.”

“... Yes.”

“So not only could you have fallen, but you could've gotten cut to pieces.”

“Actually, just the former,” she said stonily. “I wrapped myself up in a throw prior to going through the glass, to minimize the possibility of getting fatally injured.”

“I'd count the possibility of falling from twenty stories high a good potential fatal injury.”

“It wasn't twenty stories,” she sighed, exasperated. “More like... seven.”

Brick recalled how she had glanced at him when she'd told Robbie...

“Who were you...” He cleared his throat and started again. “Who were you trying to save?”

She didn't respond.

“Was it me?”

She shifted in her seat.

“You could've said something.”

“There was a lot of smoke,” she muttered. “I tried, but I went into a coughing fit.”

“I probably would've been able to dodge it in time. And even if I'd gotten hit, I don't think it would've killed me.”

“Yes, sorry,” she snapped. “I was completely useless and my intervention was totally unnecessary. I was only putting myself in danger for absolutely no good reason at all.”

Brick thought of her surrounded by smoke, unable to fly or engage in the fight, the threat of death looming over her as she sailed through that window, through that glass, all because...

He picked at a corner of his textbook cover, trying to straighten it and thinking of how easily she had smiled at Robbie. “I can't believe you did that. Without powers or anything. Jumped through glass, I mean. Up from seven stories. And then beat Mojo Jojo, on top of it.” He could almost sense her relaxing beside him, her anger giving way to a slight confusion. “You're kind of a beast,” he said, and she fidgeted.

“Um... thank you,” she said.

The bell rang, but just before Mrs. Yang could get class started Blossom seemed to reach some inner conclusion and whispered, “Um... should we... did you want to start practicing today?”

Brick thought about what they'd talked about two weeks ago, about the promise of his arms around her waist and her cheek against his. They were silly thoughts. They wouldn't be dancing anything that involved her face so close to his.

He set his jaw and thought of Mojo.

“Sorry,” he heard himself say. “Let's start tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. I'm busy this afternoon.”

***

Townsville Prison was more heavily protected than Brick would've expected. Never mind the guards; of course they were idiots. But there were surveillance cameras all over the place, and Brick had struggled to come up with a way to get past them without damaging the building. And, of course, without being seen.

That had been last week. Then, over the weekend, he'd realized he had an empty volcanic observatory full of stuff he could use.

That had done the trick. They'd thought that Mojo had cameras stationed all around the world, but the truth was more reasonable: his system could access any surveillance camera he wanted, worldwide. (Brick had decided not to question how he'd gone about setting this up. The chimp with the oversized brain had an uncanny knack for grandiose feats that defied reason and logic.)

Within a day Brick was viewing the surveillance feed from the prison. He then—with some difficulty—hacked into the surveillance system itself, and set it up to loop recorded footage for the duration of thirty minutes one afternoon.

That afternoon was today. Brick—who had been thwarted inadvertently during last week's attack—was going to see Mojo Jojo.

The cameras were fine; now Brick just had to get past the guards. He'd double-checked with his siblings about the girls' whereabouts. Butch had not been able to speak to her for a week without getting punched in the nuts, but he'd known that Buttercup would be at volleyball practice. Brick had told Boomer to take Bubbles out this afternoon. Besides that, the blonde was working on her Independent Study Project for Art at home. Blossom, of course, was at Dance practice.

Brick managed to steal into the building without being seen, then approached the guard behind the glass in the waiting room.

“Excuse me, hi,” he said, and the guard looked at him. “It's still visiting hours, right? I'd like to talk to Mojo Jojo.”

The guard squinted at him. “Aren't you one of the Rowdyruff Boys?”

Brick knew it wouldn't do to lie. “Yes.”

“You helped bring him down the other day, didn't you?”

“I did.”

For whatever reason, the guard relaxed. “What do you want to see him for?”

“I suspect he's up to something and want to see if I can get any info out of him.”

Within five seconds the guy had scanned him and was walking him down to the visiting area, coffee cup in hand. Brick eyed it and scoffed. Easy. Ridiculously easy.

“Now, because it's, you know, Mojo Jojo and all, I'll have to sit with you just to make sure everything goes hunky-dory,” the guard explained.

“Just doing your job, officer,” Brick said, uncapping Butch's bottle of sleeping meds in his pocket.

“Let me just get this door here,” he said, fumbling for his keys and holding his drink to the side as he did. Brick dropped half a pill into the mug and waited while he opened the door. “Larry, I'm gonna need you to send Mojo Jojo out,” the guard said into a walkie talkie. He led Brick inside, then took a slurp of his coffee. “Now, you sit right there, and I'll just be over here...”

“Thanks, officer,” Brick said, and settled back, only to fly up a second later to catch the guard's mug before it shattered on the floor. He smirked as he set it down, glancing at the snoring guard.

“You.”

Brick turned to find Mojo on the other side of the glass, eyes tapered to slits as he glared at him.

“Hey, old man,” he said, kicking back. “What's up?”

***

Boomer tried to examine his reflection in the window of a parked car. Did he look okay? He hoped he looked okay.

He took a deep breath and stared at the bright red door of Bubbles' house. He'd been here only a few times as a kid. He didn't remember it looking this imposing.

_Shake it out_ , he told himself, and did so. That settled his nerves a bit, and he cracked one of his winning smiles before floating to the door. After a second's contemplation, he wrestled his phone out of his pocket.

Her sweet voice soon rang on the other end. “Boomer? Hey! What's up?”

“There's a surprise for you on your front doorstep,” he said, grinning.

She paused before venturing, “Really?”

“A surprise that wants to know if you're busy...” he said, his hand circling over the doorbell.

“Oh, Boomer. Hold on. I'll be right down.”

“Can't—”

The door flew open, and Boomer blinked as he locked eyes with Professor Utonium.

Boomer swallowed. “Wait.”

He'd seen the guy before—yes, when he was a kid, but also in photos, old newspapers, the like. He seemed like a harmless, amiable enough person.

Or had.

Professor Utonium smiled—a disarming tweak of the lips, which showed just enough strain to indicate that he wasn't smiling because he was genuinely happy to see Boomer.

Boomer closed his phone and pocketed it, never once removing his eyes from the Professor's. It occurred to him that he had faced way scarier things than this—Professor Utonium was a sane person who lived in a quiet suburb in a happy city, and Boomer was a Rowdyruff Boy. A fucking Rowdyruff Boy, and charming to boot.

He turned on his most beatific smile and saluted. “Hi there, Professor Utonium. Nice to meet you. I'm, you know, Boomer. I'm here to see Bubbles.”

“Of course,” the Professor said, and something curled in Boomer's stomach, something dark that screamed _Danger_ and _Doom_ and _Death Will Soon Be Upon You_.

“Come in, Boomer.” He backed away, revealing the bright, well-lit living room, and Boomer inwardly sighed, relieved at the pleasant setting.

“Can I see you in my lab for a second?”

Boomer's relief plummeted into the depths of some dark, icy ocean. A dark, icy ocean full of dead ex-boyfriends.

He shook the image away and said, “Um... why's that, Professor?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Professor Utonium said, waving him on to a door that said _Lab_ that may just as well have read _Here Lies Boomer_. “I just want to talk to you for a second about Bubbles.”

_He's just a regular guy_ , Boomer reassured himself. A regular guy who'd created three little girls in a laboratory, sure, and was a pretty well-known scientist, but by all other accounts, pretty much a regular guy.

Boomer was a Rowdyruff Boy. Please. What could the Professor possibly do to him?

***

“I'll be honest with you, Mojo, I don't have a lot of time. So before you launch into your long-winded bloviating about this, that, and whatever, I want to put this on the table—JS, Inc.”

Mojo's arms were crossed and he continued to glare at Brick.

“You know who they are. They've approached you in the past. Several times, in fact. And you've always turned them down.”

“My talents lie elsewhere.”

“Your talents are being wasted.”

“I don't believe my abilities nor my choices are the ones that should be coming into question here, seeing as how current parties with certain superhuman abilities have made choices that are of more questionable concern than my abilities. And my choices. Currently.”

Brick sighed and leaned back, looking up at the dingy ceiling. “You speaking for Him, now?”

“I speak for myself, and it is only myself for whom I speak.”

“Look. I work for a company that is the leading distributor of Evil in this country. We kill people, we spread diseases, we start wars, we manufacture and distribute black market weaponry, we call when you've just sat down to dinner, we cause traffic jams, and in the summer we get together to club baby seals—that's the name of it, Club Baby Seal, get it?”

“You do not directly allow yourselves to be tied to all those items you have described, which would—”

“Being the most evil one in the room does not necessitate having the loudest voice,” Brick interjected, his lip curling. “A lesson you would do well to live by once in awhile.”

“You insolent little whelp!” Mojo snarled. “You are giving _me_ life lessons here? A teenager? A boy who shunned his duty, his destiny, the very reason for which he was created—”

“Excuse me,” Brick seethed, “for deciding that chasing after little girls who protect one stupid city in an entire world was an utter waste of my time.”

“You cannot even begin to understand—”

“Mojo, what can you say you've done? Successfully? I can tell you, because quite frankly, _you're_ the loudest idiot in the room. You, with your superhuman intellect. You've attempted to take over the world how many times? Did it occur to you to leave Townsville? Did it occur to you to not broadcast your efforts when you did? Or is there a certain artistry to turning everybody in the world into dogs, or making a bunch of other monkeys with gigantic brains, or inventing one thing after another that ultimately fails because you never think of taking these giant machines that you can magically hide anywhere in Townsville out of Townsville? Where there's no trio of superheroes to come and stop you? Am I missing something there?” Brick leaned close, narrowing his eyes at this idiot, this waste of breath. “You had the world in your hands. You had that key, that stupid key that deemed _you_ Ruler of the World, and what did you do?”

The mere thought infuriated Brick. He'd had it. Mojo had had it, in his hands.

“You know how many of us would kill for that opportunity? That authority? You had it, and you threw it away. And here you are, over a decade later, still chasing after three stupid little girls, building up a string of failures, one after the other. And you tell me that _I'm_ the one whose choices should be coming into question, simply because I rejected a destiny that I can tell, just by observing my 'mentor figures' around me, will yield no outcome other than total failure?”

The amount of loathing being issued in his direction was only matched by the absolute disgust Brick felt as they stared each other down.

“You,” Mojo Jojo said quietly, “have been _such_ a disappointment.”

Brick's eyes flashed.

“You say you rejected a destiny that holds no option for you other than failure, but did you ever make the effort? You accuse me, and those with similar inclinations like me in this city, of wasting our efforts, of essentially not being 'evil enough,' the Devil Himself included, the absolute paragon of Evil, the very Being who recreated you! You have _no_ grasp of how significant your origins are! You are a part of something you cannot even begin to comprehend, and instead of taking that opportunity and living up to the responsibilities _you_ shouldered—”

“I shouldered _nothing._ I was a kid, a stupid kid who didn't know any better—”

“And remarkably enough, nothing has changed. Listen closely so that you may remember this later and I will not have to repeat myself since you have already listened to it and taken this into consideration. You may submit to the idea that being evil means manipulating the world from behind a dark, secret curtain of secrecy, but in the end, how much more devastation will be brought about by you killing whatever rich person it is that you kill who has a lot of money because they are rich, than by destroying those that signify eternal hope and salvation? Those that have become symbols of love and beauty—”

“A symbol is only a symbol. Humanity is fickle. Symbols come and go.”

“Your youth does not excuse your stupidity,” Mojo admonished. “The devotion of the pitiful human heart is not to be underestimated, Brick.”

A silence passed between them, marred by the deep snoring of the sleeping guard.

“You and your brothers were created to destroy the Powerpuff Girls. Both times. Him even placed you with that duty, which is yours no matter what you believe. A task from the Most Evil One is not to be taken lightly, at least, not in my recommendation; I would advise against dismissing that which you are obligated to do.”

Brick stared at him, letting his hatred simmer. He wanted to remember this. This was why he had left. This was why it was so important that he get out of here as soon as possible. He would drown in inadequacy here, in this city, listening to drivel like this. He didn't owe anyone a fucking thing. No matter if Him had created them, and Mojo before. They belonged to nobody. Brick belonged to nobody.

“I am not obligated to do anything,” he said. Mojo, this idiot, couldn't see, would never see. None of them ever would.

“Of course you aren't. Nobody expects anything of an utter disappointment.”

Brick flew to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor as his eyes burned a steady, glowing red. Mojo continued to glare at him, his grim expression unwavering.

No. He couldn't do anything. He'd attract attention. The girls would find out, and then they might start digging, and Brick didn't need that. Slowly, steadily, the glow in his eyes subsided.

“Takes one to know one,” he muttered, before gathering up the guard and slamming the door behind him.

The guard was out, completely. Not even the noise of Brick's chair falling to the floor nor the loud echo of the door slam had stirred him from his slumber.

Suddenly the guard's watch beeped the hour, and he came to with a snort. Of course. “Huh? Whazzat?”

Brick stood him on his feet in the hall. “Hey. You passed out back there.”

“Did... did I?” The guard rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don't remember...”

“Yeah. Here's your mug.” Brick had grabbed it on the way out the door, and he passed it back.

“Thanks, kid. Did you get what you were looking for?”

Brick's hands drifted into his pockets. “I... suppose I got about what I expected.”

“Mm. Well, let's get you back to the desk so you can sign out—actually, I'm sorry, I don't think I had you sign in—”

“That won't be necessary.” Brick whipped out a little device that went off like a flashbulb in the guard's eyes. The man blinked and his eyes went glassy. “I was never even here.”

***

Bubbles paced around the living room. Boomer wasn't at the door, and wouldn't pick up his phone. She huffed and crossed her arms. So she had taken a little time to get ready! It had only been, what, half an hour? He was going to need a stern talking to—

The door to the Professor's lab swung open, and she whirled to find her father and her boyfriend exiting.

_Oh. Well, that explains it_.

“Hi there, sweetheart!” the Professor said, and kissed her on the cheek. Behind him, Boomer looked a little gaunt.

“Hey, Professor,” she said, giving him a quick hug.

“You two go have fun now.” Her father ushered her towards the door. Boomer sidled to the door as well. He moved a little awkwardly—he appeared not to want to turn his back to the Professor.

“Love you, Professor!”

He waved. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

“Bye,” Boomer said, with some degree of difficulty. He exhaled once they were through the door.

Bubbles wrapped her arm around his and dashed him down the street. “Oh, you should've called me _before_ you came over.”

“No, it... it was fine,” he said, gulping.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing!” Boomer squeaked, then cleared his throat. “Nothing. He said nothing. Why would you think he said anything? He just showed me his lab. He does some neat stuff there. In his lab. With stuff. Hey, wow, I sure am hungry! Are you hungry? I hope you're hungry, because I'm starving. Seriously, I could eat a bear. Maybe two. Think they serve bear somewhere?”

As he pulled her along, Bubbles sighed. Well, at least they'd gotten that out of the way.

***

Boomer acted funny for about a week after that, though he wouldn't tell his brothers what was up. Brick didn't seem too concerned; he was preoccupied with practicing with Blossom, which consumed his early mornings and afternoons, sometimes well into the evening. It bothered Butch, even though he tried not to let it.

Buttercup, having had two weeks now to get over her initial anger at him, was finally starting to calm down. She still made threatening gestures towards his lower half if he got too close or talked too much, but at least he could enter her line of eyesight now and actually talk to her without encouraging her to smash his potential future children in.

Even Butch could admit to himself that he deserved it. If anything, he _liked_ getting what he deserved. Except, of course, when it came to brothers stealing girlfriends—never mind that Blossom hadn't been nor was ever going to be his girlfriend, and Brick still claimed he hated her guts—but honestly, despite what he thought? Butch would have deserved this kind of treatment anyway.

After an easygoing lacrosse practice he went home to shower. Buttercup wasn't out of practice just yet, but she might be free afterwards if she wasn't cooking, and Butch had been encouraged by the fact that he'd been able to make a rude joke around her today—not _about_ her, of course; he had to work back up to that—and avoid another kick to the nads. As he got out of the shower he wondered how much Chemical X helped with nad regeneration. Maybe Brick would know. Butch snickered to himself at the phrase he'd unwittingly created in his head.

“Nad regeneration,” he muttered to himself, amused. He wandered around his room, looking for a fresh set of clothes. Shit. Was he out of jeans? He was out of jeans. Grumbling, he located a pair of boxers and rummaged around his mess of a bed for a clean shirt. Something rolled out, bouncing onto the carpet, and as Butch tugged his shirt on he peered at it, frowning.

The memory came to him; it was the album he'd borrowed from Mitch, with a very special bonus disc inside.

He picked it up, a few drops of water dripping onto the case from his wet hair, and he shook his head vigorously, pushing his hair back away from his face. Fuck, it was getting long. He didn't mind long hair, but Brick tended to grow his hair out. That made Butch dislike it on principle.

He wiped the water off the beat up plastic with his shirt, then opened it and extracted his disc from behind the real CD. He examined the track listing of the album while waiting for his computer to power up, then tossed it back on the bed, deciding he really couldn't give a fuck.

Penny, bless that woman's heart, had given all three of the Boys a password hack program, and Butch copied the disc's contents to his desktop before running the program on the folder which contained what Butch could only assume was Mitch's Happy Time collection. The program started scanning for the password, and Butch watched for about a minute as it did its thing. Then, bored—it'd probably be going for awhile—he got up, located his phone, and dialed Buttercup's number.

It rang until her voicemail picked up. “ _Hey, it's Buttercup. Um, I'm busy, I guess, so leave me a message and if you don't suck I'll call you back_.”

After it beeped Butch said, “Hey, motherfucker, what's up? Yours truly. Give me a call, I'm bored out of my—”

His computer chirped, indicating the program was done, and he turned, shocked. That fast? Huh.

“Out of my skull,” he continued into his phone as he approached his computer. “So give me a...”

He trailed off, catching sight of the password the program had discovered.

Buttercup.

He furrowed his brow and fumbled for his chair, then remembered he was on the phone. “Um, call me,” he said, then ended the call. He pulled his chair up and hovered his mouse over the _Continue_ button. After a second's contemplation, he clicked.

The folder flooded with thumbnails, and Butch watched the number climb in the corner of the window until it stopped at five hundred and twenty-seven files. His eyes widened. Had Mitch taken pictures of Buttercup when they were...?

He scanned through them. No. Nothing indecent. They were just regular photos. Bummer. It would've been great to find something to blackmail her with.

He drew his feet up on his chair, studying his desktop. Then he clicked on the first photo.

Scrolling through the first half, Butch gathered that part of it covered roughly ten years—it contained younger stuff, like a scanned photo of their Kindergarten class, with Buttercup and Mitch making faces at the camera, the only blemishes in a class full of smiling students. He'd forgotten what Buttercup had looked like as a kid—not that she looked that much different now, but the sight of her five-year-old self brought on a dim collection of memories. He remembered punching that face when it was snarling at his, the way it had spat insults at him, snapped angrily, even sneered when she'd landed a good blow. The ones that followed were from various stages of adolescent life. Soccer games, parties, general dicking around. Butch could see a clear progression of time throughout them. He shifted uncomfortably; the feeling he'd gotten when he'd watched her sing on stage last month welled up again now. But he didn't stop.

One of these wasn't a photo, but a video file. Butch clicked it open and played it.

Grainy laughter spilled out of his speakers; it was a group vid of Buttercup and the guys, sitting and laughing in the parking lot of a Malph's at night. Buttercup was standing in the well of a shopping cart, weaving as she tried to keep it in place. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked about fifteen, maybe sixteen tops.

“ _Dude, you're so gonna fall_ ,” Harry's voice crackled.

“ _Wanna bet_?” Buttercup laughed.

“ _Harry, if I could do it, what makes you think Buttercup couldn't_?” This was Mitch's voice; he was manning the camera.

“ _Hey, hey, hey, look guys. Look._ ” Buttercup was waving them around, waving at Mitch to bring his camera closer. “ _Okay. This is my impression of Harry._ ” She looked right into the camera, snorting with laughter. She took a second to compose herself, then inhaled and said in a deep, mocking voice, with her hands waving on either side of her head, “ _I AM A VAGINA._ ”

The group exploded into raucous guffaws, Buttercup included. Butch even gave a perfunctory snort himself. Only Harry's voice was humorless as he snarked against the joke.

“ _Real funny, guys! Really fucking hilarious! I'm laughing my ass off! Ha_!”

Buttercup cackled as she sat on the edge of the cart, but too hard; it overbalanced and the end toppled over, taking Buttercup with it down to the asphalt.

Harry's voice sounded again, “ _Dude! What the hell did I tell you? I so called it_!”

This only inspired another furious round of laughter, and soon enough Harry had joined in.

“ _Oh my God, I'm crying,_ ” Floyd—or was it Lloyd?—said, punctuating his announcement with a sniffle and a theatrical wiping of tears. “ _I'm crying, guys, holy shit_.”

The camera turned to Buttercup, crawling out from under the cart, still giggling.

“ _I so told you you were going to fall—_ ”

“ _Shut up, queef_ ,” Buttercup said, and Mitch laughed, catching her attention. She turned her face to the camera and grinned, her eyes darting back and forth from the ground to the camera as she sat up. Her ponytail had fallen out after her spill; a light breeze pushed her now loose hair into her face, and she brushed it back, still smiling to cam.

The laughter cut off as the vid stopped there, on Buttercup's beaming expression, with a hand in her hair to hold it back. Butch's gaze lingered on the image for awhile before continuing on.

That was the last of the first half. The entire second half of the folder, he realized, was from the short three months Buttercup and Mitch had spent together as a couple.

He was a little surprised at how different Buttercup looked with long hair. It seemed so impractical for a girl like her. Butch took his time, studying these semi-recent photos more closely. There were a few group shots of Buttercup and the boys, some of Buttercup and Mitch here and there, but for the most part, they were all her. The photos covered a wide array of her expressions. Butch spent less time on the ones he was familiar with—where she looked sullen and irritated. They were of less interest to him.

There was one of her holding the very bass guitar that he'd seen in Mitch's room, her eyes intent and focused on whatever she was playing. There was another of her leaning back, legs askew on the trailer’s steps—a downshot, taken from the front door behind her, with her head tilting up and back and a wild grin on her face. Butch paused for a long time on a closeup shot of Buttercup asleep on Mitch’s bed (fully clothed), her long hair smooth and dripping black off the pillow, looking way too peaceful for Buttercup. There was another video, but Butch skipped over it.

_It just felt really sad_.

Buttercup. Buttercup. Buttercup. One after another after another.

In the skate park. At the convenience store late at night. In Mitch’s room again, shy and hiding the smile on her face with one hand as she indicated the “MITCH ROCKS” shirt she was wearing with the other.

_We never did anything like that_. Mitch was a fucking liar.

Butch stopped on the last one, face stony as he contemplated it. She was in Mitch's room. He recognized the posters in the background, the stacks of CDs and magazines on the floor, the rumpled bed. All that was blurry. It called even more attention to her, her top half framed dead center. Her long hair was a little messy, a few strands of it drifting across her face—Butch imagined she probably hated having it so long, but what did he know? She certainly didn't look unhappy. The small smile on her face said so. And that face…

Butch didn’t know how to place it. She looked happy and sad all at once. She looked like something warm from her chest was spilling out into her expression, softening her eyes, her smile. She looked so at peace, so content, so deliriously and unabashedly in love that it scared her and all she could manage was that tiny, tiny smile.

She was looking right at the camera like that. Just like that.

_In the end, I really, really…_

It wasn’t just the impractical long hair that made her look different. This Buttercup… all these Buttercups… didn’t exist anymore. For Butch, they’d never existed at all. It was like that night he had watched her sing, growing more uncomfortable and distanced the more she loosened up, the more she faded back into the person she’d been before her haircut, her breakup. Before him.

He remembered the video he'd skipped over, and scrolled back to it. This looked like it was only of her, and he clicked it open just as his phone rang. It startled him, and in his haste to answer it he unintentionally clicked the mouse button, causing the vid to play just as he answered his phone.

“Hello?” he said, as Buttercup's voice started echoing out of his speakers. He turned back to his desktop and hissed, “Shit!”

“Butch, it's me,” Buttercup said, then paused. Butch tapped the spacebar frantically, but he had inadvertently clicked off the window, so the video didn't pause. “What's that?”

“What's what?” he said as he grabbed his mouse and stopped the video.

“Are you watching a movie or something?”

“Just channel surfing. So what's up?”

“Got your call. Hey, I can't hang out or anything tonight.”

“Oh...” He stared at the long-haired Buttercup smiling at him from his computer screen. “Well, that's alright.”

“Yeah, maybe tomorrow or something.” He tried to reconcile that careless voice with the happy girl onscreen, a Slurpee in her hand. “Hey, is everything okay?”

He jerked to a little. “Huh? Yeah, what? What makes you ask?”

“Naw, man, your message was a little weird. That's all. Like you forgot you were on the phone towards the end of it.” A pause, then, “Everything okay?”

He looked away from the screen to his bare knee. “Yeah. Yeah, it's okay.”

“Were you stoned or something?”

“No, just...” He glanced up again at his screen, looking at her. “I just got distracted.”

“Yeah? Well, alright. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said, and hit the button to end the call. He settled back in his seat, staring at her name on the tiny screen. Finally he set it back down on his desk, his gaze drifting back to his computer monitor and the frozen image of Buttercup. He pulled the little playbar back to the beginning and started it over.

“— _Just not my thing, that's all_ ,” Buttercup was saying as she lifted the straw to her lips and sipped. She looked at the camera—at Mitch. “ _You carry that thing around a lot these days, you know_?”

The camera wobbled a bit; Mitch had shrugged. “ _What about it_?”

“ _I just wanna make sure my head's not gonna wind up on some naked lady pictures or something,_ ” she joked. “ _Lots of creepy fucks on the internet, you know_.”

“ _Come on, not my style_. _You know me_.”

“ _Ha_.” Buttercup sipped at her drink again.

“ _Your tongue's turned blue_.”

“ _Is that right_?” Buttercup stuck her tongue out to the camera, curling it.

“ _Yeah_.”

“ _Shit, I've only taken, like, five sips_.” She brought the plastic cup up to eye level, as if she could decipher its mysteries by staring at it.

“ _Buttercup, you'd look good in a dress_.”

She rolled her eyes as she sipped again. “ _I told you, it just isn't my thing._ ”

“ _You wore a dress when we were kids_.”

“ _Yeah, we all start out young and stupid, don't we_?”

“ _I think you'd look nice_.”

She glanced at the camera askance, sipping a long time before pulling her lips away from the straw and saying quietly, “ _Yeah, well, you? You're biased_.”

“ _I guess_.”

They were approaching a bus stop; Buttercup hopped up on the bench and pretended to walk along it like a balance beam before hopping off the other end.

Mitch spoke up again. “ _Hey, so Prom_.”

She threw the camera a funny look, clearly amused. “ _Right after we skipped Homecoming_? _You're already thinking about Prom_?”

“ _Yeah, well, it got me thinking_.”

“ _About dresses_ ,” she snorted, sobering. After a while she said, “ _So you're saying I don't look good otherwise, huh_?”

“ _That is not what I'm saying_.”

“ _You're trying to get me to wear a dress because you don't want to go to Prom with an ugly dyke like me_.”

“ _Bullshit. Cut that out_.”

She flipped her hair back. “ _I'm just telling it like it is_.”

“ _I think you're gorgeous. You're gorgeous now. You're gorgeous all the time. You'd look gorgeous in a trash bag. Hell, you'd even look gorgeous in a dress_.”

Buttercup stared at the ground. It was hard to tell, with her face tilted down and her hair masking it, but anyone with an eye could tell she was blushing.

“ _Sure you're not mixing me up with Blossom there, are you_?” she murmured, then sipped at her Slurpee again.

“ _Shut up. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen_.” The urgency in his voice made it obvious. Mitch meant it.

Buttercup looked at the camera, her eyes soft, almost sad, but that smile was on her face, that tiny, scared, and yet deliriously happy smile that lit up her expression, made it almost shine in the dark. Mitch was right. She was...

She looked away, then looked back again, smiling a little more fully at camera now. She was also blushing something fierce.

“ _Hey_. _Put that thing down for a second_.”

“ _Huh_?”

“ _Put it down._ ” She stooped to set her Slurpee down on the sidewalk.

“ _Why_?” Mitch asked as she reached for the camera. The angle tilted, and her face slid out of sight. The camera was facing down now, trying to focus on their shoes.

The blurry image wobbled as their hands fumbled on the camera. “ _So I can kiss you, stupid_ ,” Buttercup's voice whispered, and then the video stopped.

Butch stared at the screen, his jaw sore. He'd been clenching it; he hadn't even realized. He looked back at the album he'd thrown on his bed, the one he'd hidden the disc in. He'd thought it'd have porn on it. He felt cheated, angry. It'd have been better if there'd been porn on it.

Fucking Mitch.

Lacking something better to do, he tabbed through a few of the photos again. Yeah. Porn would've been better. It would've been a lot better.

He'd never seen her smile the way she was smiling in some of these photos, particularly the ones from when she and Mitch were together. He'd never have expected she could look like that. Like someone happy instead of someone mean, or condescending, or so over everything, seriously.

He hesitated on a photo of her, leaning over so her hair fell along either side of her face, framing it. Suddenly Butch hated her with long hair. Really hated it. He'd only mildly disliked it before, but no, it looked awful. Short hair was way better on her.

He came again to the video, the one of her by herself, clutching her Slurpee and smiling at the camera. Smiling at Mitch.

Butch stared at her, letting the image soak into his brain, into his memory. It would be a false one. It wasn't his; he hadn't been there. He hadn't been there for any of these. He stared and stared, drilling that expression, that smile into his brain until it burned, and then he clicked his mouse button.

“— _Just not my thing, that's all_ ,” Buttercup said, and she raised her Slurpee to her lips and sipped, her tongue curled and stained blue.

***

“So Faust thinks this one should be just us.” Blossom pointed at a track on the back of the CD case.

“Really?” Brick peered at it. “It's got a lot of energy; it'd be good for a group—”

“She was talking to Jim and they both reached some sort of conclusion about turning it into a ballroom dance.”

“So she's turning that one over to Jim now?”

“I guess.” Blossom set it down, shrugging. “Anyway.”

“I mean, if they want to, okay. Doesn't affect the stuff we have to do.”

Someone knocked on the doorframe of the otherwise empty studio, and they both looked up to find Robin standing there.

“Hey, losers.”

“Robin!” Blossom stood up and hugged her. “I'm sorry I haven't seen you—”

“I've been busy, too,” Robin said, smiling. “Lots of StuCo stuff going on. Hey, I just wanted to tell you guys—Bubbles said I'd find you here—I'm throwing a party at the end of the month. And you.” She pointed at Blossom here. “You have no excuse to not come, since we live right next door to each other.” Robin turned to Brick. “You and your brothers can come, too. As long as you can keep Butch from breaking something.”

The invitation took Brick by surprise. He blinked and said, “Uh, sure.”

“Very cool.” Robin clapped her hands. “Alright, I'll leave you guys to it.”

Blossom waved at her friend as she left, then stayed standing, glancing down at Brick. She began to play with her hands.

“So... do you want to get started?”

He reached for the CD and grunted as he stood. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Which one should we work on?”

Brick scanned the track listing on the back. It was too bad Jim hadn't started choreographing the ballroom piece yet. It'd be nice to work on that one with her.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, then picked a safer one, one that didn't involve them being too close or touching too much.

“Here. This one. Let's do this one.”

***

“Robin is throwing a party!” Bubbles called out to Buttercup long before she bounded up to her. Buttercup looked up from where she was conversing with the guys—sans Butch—in the atrium.

“Yeah?”

“In two weeks,” Bubbles said as Boomer came up beside her. “Or, end of the month. End of the month is in two weeks, right?”

“Give or take,” Buttercup said.

“Oh, Boomer.” Floyd reached into his bag. “I gotta give these back to you.”

He pulled out the albums he'd borrowed from Boomer and held them out to him. Boomer stared at them for a second before taking them and flipping through them.

“Thanks, Floyd,” he said, his voice quiet.

An awkward silence settled over the group.

“You guys, um,” Boomer tried, then started again. “You guys found anyone else for the band?”

“Naw, I think we're quittin'.”Mitch shrugged.

Boomer looked up, stunned. “You're kidding.”

“Well, Senior year and all, I mean, we're all kinda busy...”

Boomer still looked as if he'd been sucker punched in the gut. Bubbles noticed his expression and began to pull him away.

“Hey, we'll see you guys later.”

“Wait,” Harry called as Bubbles and Boomer started down the hall. “Does that invite to Robin's party stand for us guys, too?”

“Yep,” Robin said, striding past them. “Hey, Buttercup.”

“Yo.” Buttercup waved at her friend's back, spotting Butch at the doors. “Hey, there's that fucker.”

Butch saw them and floated up, yawning. “Hey.”

Buttercup took in his sleepy eyes. “You look tired.”

“Hm. Makes sense. Feel pretty tired.”

“What's up with that?”

“Was on my computer too long last night,” he muttered, glancing at Mitch. The twins were standing between him and Buttercup. “Um... what's up?”

“You barely made the bell, I think,” Buttercup said, and right on cue the bell rang.

“Well, see you guys at lunch,” Harry said. “Except for you, Buttercup.”

“Fuck you early lunch guys,” she said. “Late lunch is where the cool kids hang out.”

The guys rolled their eyes. Before Mitch could leave, Butch dug out his album and handed it over.

“Oh, yeah, man,” Mitch said, eyeing it. “Did you like it? I've got more of their stuff, if you're interested.”

“It was alright,” Butch muttered. “Not really my thing.”

“Okay. See you.” Mitch turned to Buttercup. “Later, Buttercup.”

“Bye,” she said, and Butch watched them both as Mitch turned away and started down the hall.

Stupid. Their voices still went soft when they talked to each other, their gazes held just a little longer than necessary. They were still in love with each other and didn't even fucking know it.

_Idiots,_ Butch thought viciously to himself as Buttercup shouldered her bag and glanced at him. _Fucking stupid idiots_.

“Hey,” she said, jarring him from his thoughts. “You're really out of it this morning.”

He stared at her a second before saying gruffly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She started walking, then paused when Butch didn't follow. “You coming or what?”

“What?”

“Gym, you dumbass,” she sighed, giving him a look. “Obviously we're not in the same class, but fuck, we're headed in the same direction.” She jerked her head. “Come on. Let's go.”

She started off again, her head still turned and watching him. Butch felt his feet move on their own, jogging to catch up.

“Lay off the weed, man,” she said under her breath as they walked. “I think you're killing brain cells.”

Butch thought of telling her he hadn't smoked a damn thing. “Yeah.”

***

Brick was kind of relieved when Friday arrived. Not that his week was going terribly at all—last week was another story; he'd brooded about the confrontation with Mojo for days—but it was still a relief to know the weekend would soon be upon them.

He stared off into space as he sketched out ideas for his sculpture, glancing at Bubbles' empty seat. She was at home again, doing her Independent Study work from there. There was something odd about the room when she was gone; it was less interesting, less friendly. He actually felt a little bored when she wasn't around.

Julie, who was seated next to Bubbles' empty seat, caught him staring and said, “She says it's too big to work on at the school.”

“Is her place really any bigger?”

“She cleared out a room, I think. At least, that's what she told me.”

“Mm,” Brick intoned, and went back to sketching. He was grateful for when the bell finally rang, but there was still lunch, and then English. He could skip, probably, but Blossom was in English and... yeah.

He went out cruising around in his car during lunch and came back in time for his last class. The passing period was already underway, and he slipped through the crowds of students to his English class. Blossom was already there, and she glanced up from her book as he came in. He tried to take his time getting over there.

“Hey,” he said as he sank into his seat.

“Hi,” she said, and went back to her book.

The bell rang, and Mrs. Yang said, “Okay, guys, everyone brought their books, right? We're just free reading today because I've still got papers to grade.”

“If it's free reading could we just leave?” one of the students asked.

“Who was that? John? Stacy, hit John for me.”

There was a whack, followed by a subdued, “Ow.”

“Thank you. No, you cannot, because as far as I'm concerned I'm just giving you class time to continue prepping for your essay. You're comparing a theme in a book of your choice to two other books on this semester's class reading list. Since I know most of you will be scrambling to finish this thing at five AM the day it's due, I'm offering you the opportunity to have at least a little more read before the eleventh hour is here. Don't try my patience.”

Dim, murmuring chatter swelled as they pulled out their reading material. Brick glanced at Blossom, who looked away from him and back to her book.

“By the way, I almost forgot. The Museum of Contemporary Art has an E. E. Cummings exhibit in town featuring art inspired by the poet. If you drop by and can do a quick one page comparative essay on the art piece to the poem that inspired it, I'll bump your lowest grade up by one to ten points, based on how well it's written. Due Tuesday.” She pulled out her gradebook and papers. “Now get to work.”

***

Brick should've expected to see her there.

He hadn't been sure he'd go. But his Saturday was crawling, he was bored, and because he had nothing better to do he kept thinking back to the conversation he'd had with Mojo.

Even before he and his brothers had left Him, they'd never heard anything about their “destiny” or the like. Sure, they'd been created to destroy the Girls, so in a way that had been their destiny. But it'd always been treated as just a goal, a mission. If there was a greater plan in place and it was “meant to be,” why hadn't that been mentioned until now? And for Mojo Jojo to bring it up... that implied some sort of great spiritual thing going on there that even a man—well, monkey—of science wouldn't dismiss with logic and reasoning.

Mojo Jojo had always wanted to destroy the Powerpuff Girls and rule the world. Why would he now—suddenly, upon being confronted with the Boys' return—tell Brick that it was actually _their_ duty in life—their destiny—to destroy the Girls?

Brick mulled over it until his head was sick with brooding. That was when he decided to head to the MoCA Townsville and check out the Cummings exhibit.

He wasn't big on poetry, but the exhibit was interesting. A lot of it felt pretentious in the way that most modern art did. He stared at a couch with a lamppost through it for about five minutes, trying to figure out what the hell it was saying, and finally realized it was about fucking. Well, _that_ was stupid. He didn't even bother reading the poem for that one.

There were others, though—paintings, sculptures, even interactive pieces that were really well done. After he was about two thirds through the exhibit he thought he had a good idea of what he might do his extra credit on—it was between two paintings, both pretty abstract—and turned down the last darkened hall.

It was spotlit, so his eye was drawn to it fairly quickly, despite it being smaller than many pieces it shared the space with. It was a gnarled little metal sculpture; he couldn't figure out what it was. He read the first few lines of the poem to try and put it in context.

_since feeling is first_

_who pays any attention_

_to the syntax of things_

_will never wholly kiss you;_

Brick stopped after that, because he noticed a switch on a panel next to the poem, level with that line. After a moment, he flicked it.

The spotlight flicked off, and a smaller spotlight he hadn't noticed on the podium where the sculpture rested illuminated it, projecting its shadow against the wall. He blinked, his eyes darting from the twisted mass of metal and the shadow of two people it created when it was lit in just the right way.

His eyes traced the silhouette of a man and woman, lying together, the man's fingers brushing her lips open. It looked nothing like the scraps thrown together on the podium. How had they done that? It was fucking ingenious.

“Brick?”

In the stillness of the gallery her voice rang like a bell. Brick turned to see Blossom floating at the end of the hall, where he'd originally come in. It might have been because he'd lost himself a little in the genius of well-executed art, or maybe the first four lines of the poem had stuck with him. Or maybe he just hadn't expected to see her, when really, he should have; after all, it _was_ extra credit. It may have also been the sunlight streaming in the one lone skylight in this section of the gallery, putting this ethereal glow about her that only heightened the effect.

In any case, something clenched in his chest when his eyes fell upon her, something welled up in his throat that he couldn't swallow down. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and when he said her name it came out in a voice he didn't mean to let out, a voice that was practically a whisper and yet, somehow, still heavy with emotion.

“Blossom?” he said, his voice sounding soft, deep, yet still ringing in that quiet gallery, and she blushed furiously. She couldn't help it.

***

“Holy shit, Butch,” the twins said in one awed voice as they stepped into his apartment. “Who do you have to kill to live in a place like this?”

“Eh, a bunch of rich old fucks,” he said, his tone bored. Buttercup shot him a sharp look before dragging her haul of movie-watching munchies over to the kitchen.

“How did you guys get tangled up with the rich old fuck who hooked you up in this place?” Harry said.

Butch went with the answer he was supposed to go with. “Anyone with money gets interested in the Red-Eyed Golden Child, since he's some sort of prodigy, apparently. He's out, by the way.”

“Good,” Buttercup said. “He's always in a fucking mood when someone's over.”

Butch was studying Mitch's guarded reaction, wondering if he was jealous. The living room was like three of Mitch's trailers combined.

“So what's the lineup tonight?”

“Pick your poison, brothers.” Butch laughed, indicating the rack of movies he'd dragged out of his room.

“I'm voting _Anaconda_ ,” Buttercup called from behind the breakfast bar. Harry went over to help her start some popcorn.

“Lady's choice, then,” Butch announced, flicking the case out of the rack and extracting the DVD. “Coke's in the fridge, by the way.”

“The kind you drink, right?”

“Fuck you, Floyd,” Butch sniped.

“Fair question, for you,” Buttercup laughed, and undid the Saran wrap over a cake tin. “Brownies, anyone?”

“Pot brownies?” Butch, Mitch, and the twins asked simultaneously.

“Hell no, druggies!” she snapped, but with a smile. “You know, when your parents told you to eat your greens, that wasn't what they meant.”

“Can't blame me,” Butch said as he flipped the TV on. “I weren't brung up right.”

A door swung open, and a drowsy Boomer wandered into the living room, stretching. “Hey, guys,” he said through his yawn.

“Look at you, gorgeous.” Butch sneered at his mussed up hair and wrinkled clothes.

“Go fuck yourself.” Boomer hoisted himself onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He peered blearily over, brightening up a bit as he saw Buttercup cutting brownies.

“Are those pot brownies?” he asked, and Buttercup rolled her eyes and looked skyward.

“Seriously, guys, what the fucking fuck?” she said in disbelief as the rest of the room broke into laughter. The microwave beeped, and Harry stuck a second bag of popcorn in it, then tore open the first and carried it over to the group.

“Here.” Buttercup handed Boomer a piece. “And there's _no_ pot in it.”

“Mmphmrmph.” Boomer's response was muffled by brownie.

“Hey, shouldn't you and Bubbles be hanging out?” Mitch asked.

“They spent enough time together this morning,” Buttercup interrupted before Boomer could respond. “Freaking Siamese twins, those two.”

“What kind of stuff do you guys do?” Lloyd asked, then shut his mouth at the warning glare Buttercup threw his way. She waved a large knife in her hand for emphasis, her glare shifting to Boomer.

Unperturbed by her threat, Boomer swallowed the last of his brownie down and said, “Just hang out and stuff. You know.”

“What kind of stuff?” Floyd pressed.

“I got a shitload of knives over here, and I know how to aim,” Buttercup snarled. “Quit asking personal questions.” She looked at Boomer and added, “Don't you dare tell us anything that I don't wanna hear.”

“We don't—we just hang out, seriously. Like, we go shopping, and—”

“'Shopping?'” Butch's brow wrinkled. “What the fuck for?”

Boomer shrugged. “I dunno... she wanted some new shoes the other day—”

“Wait, _what_?” Mitch cried. “You went _shoe shopping_ with her? _Voluntarily_?”

“Brave man.” Buttercup's expression was now one of reverence.

“You shop for panties together, too?” Butch asked. “Since, you know, _you_ wear them now and all?”

A knife went flying at Butch's face, and he caught it by the blade one-handed.

“I'm going to stab you in your sleep, Butch,” Boomer snarled, on his feet and brandishing a second knife in his hand.

Butch was inspecting the knife he'd caught, the blade bloodless and now bent, ruined. “Brick's going to be pissed. Now we need a new one.”

“Who bent it, fucker?” Boomer shot.

“Who threw it, pussy?” Butch shot back.

“Quit your crying and start the movie!” Buttercup snatched up the last four knives out of the knife block and aimed two each in each brother's direction. The non-superbeings ducked for cover. “I didn't come here to listen to you two whine like the bitches you are!”

“He started it!” Butch cried, pointing his knife at Boomer.

“He made fun of Bubbles!” Boomer cried, pointing his knife at Butch.

“ _You_ started it,” Buttercup growled, pointing at Butch. “And _you_ were the one being made fun of, not Bubbles,” she grumbled, pointing at Boomer. “Now sit down, shut up, and watch the God damn movie. And eat some brownies and popcorn while you're at it. Anything to keep your mouths busy, because if you start pissing and moaning during the movie, I'm going to make you _eat_ these fucking knives. _Literally_!”

***

Brick stood back as she examined the piece he'd been looking at. He didn't like how his eyes drifted continuously from the silhouette on the wall to her, so he stepped to the side and just watched as she read the poem to herself.

Her lips—looking exceptionally full and soft in that light—formed the syllables in slow motion, and he thought of the silhouette on the wall (didn't look, no, he wasn't looking at it) and how the man was parting the woman's willing lips for a kiss. He liked the f's and the v's the best, when her teeth appeared, brushing along the swell of her lower lip to form the sound. The o's were good too; her lips came forward, puckered around the vowel like an invitation...

She looked up and he stepped back involuntarily, feeling caught. But she wasn't looking at him.

“Pretty poem,” she said. “A little overly sentimental. This is really something, though.” She indicated the sculpture and the shadow. “Is this what you're going to do your extra credit on?”

He trained his eyes on the light switch on the podium. “Maybe.”

“Did you... did you just get here?”

He glanced at the clock on his cell. He'd been here about an hour. “Um... not quite. Have you been around to see the whole exhibit yet?”

“No, I actually detoured and looked at some of their other exhibits first. I only got here about five minutes ago, so I haven't really looked around yet.”

She was wearing a skirt today—knee length, but it showed enough of those legs of hers to make the length irrelevant. Her top was a plain button-down blouse, nothing to write home about. But she even wore that well. Her ever-present bow adorned her head, canted today at a particularly flattering angle. Brick thought about the paintings he was going to choose from (maybe this sculpture, though) and what his Saturday held for him if he simply called it a day and went back home.

He tried to sound nonchalant. “Well... why don't we, um, go check out the rest of the gallery, then?”

***

Bubbles giggled as she toweled her hair dry. The days where she found herself alone in the house were few and far between. She generally didn't like the emptiness and was prone to feeling lonely, but the day was beautiful and after a pleasant morning of shopping with Boomer (he was so patient!) she had luxuriated in the warmth and comfort of a frothy bubble bath, with no sisters pounding on the door to disturb the peace.

With the tub now drained and her hair damp and smelling of strawberries, she picked out a bright sundress to feel pretty in, then threw the windows wide open. She did likewise downstairs, then, after a thought, cranked up the stereo and popped in a dance-y pop CD. She never got to listen to this stuff at this volume when her family was in the house—the volume gave the Professor and Blossom headaches, and Buttercup would spend so much time criticizing her taste in music that Bubbles, who could be quite sensitive about these things, resigned herself to headphones at home.

She loved hearing her music fill the house, though. It flooded the empty spaces and bounced off the high ceilings with a faint echo, a musical manifestation of her happy mood.

So Bubbles pushed past the faint loneliness at being the sole occupant of the house this afternoon, twirled in her dress as the speakers thrummed, and picked out a cookbook to peruse for dinner options, looking forward to taking full advantage of a house left entirely to herself for the evening.

***

Brick spent another hour at the museum going through an exhibit he'd already been through. He didn't much mind. He'd expected they might run into someone from class, but he didn't see anybody once in the entire two hours he was there.

“Well, the MoCA's pretty far from the school district,” Blossom said. “It's kind of a trek. I heard some folks in class talking about coming earlier today, after breakfast. There's probably going to be a few tomorrow, too.”

“Mm,” Brick said, walking with her. They came to one of his possible paintings. “I like this one.”

“Do you?”

“I don't like that one over there, though.” He pointed at the couch with a lamp post through it. He watched as Blossom, her curiosity piqued, floated over and read the poem.

“May I, said he,” she read. She frowned and looked again at the piece.

Brick came up beside her. “I don't like a lot of modern art like this; it's so pretentious.”

“And degrading,” she muttered, looking at the piece with disgust and approaching it from a completely different angle than Brick. “They turned a mildly humorous poem into sexist garbage.”

A few more pieces and they had gone through the whole gallery. _It didn't feel like an hour_ , Brick thought.

“What piece do you think you'll do yours on?” he asked her as they made their way back into the lobby.

“Oh... I don't know. Maybe that sculpture. The one with the shadow. Or maybe that terrible couch piece, just so I can criticize it.”

Brick glanced at the gift shop—no, that was stupid. He wondered if they should go through the other exhibits... but no, she'd glanced at those already.

_What can we do_? he thought, his eyes fixed on the floor so he could watch her walk in his peripheral vision. They were already approaching the exit. _What should I ask her_? _What can we go do for the rest of the afternoon_?

He didn't once think of not asking her or avoiding her. In the back of his mind he could remember that kid, that Junior, talking to her so easily in English, and then he was thinking of Kris and how boring he'd been, and how she'd been his girlfriend anyway. And now she was here, and they were walking together, and it wasn't like Brick had anything better to do, and she just looked so pretty today...

He heard an intake of breath; she was about to speak and bring this afternoon to a close. But there was still daylight left! They had time! Hours, even.

Brick spoke before she could get a word out. Or, he tried to.

“Hey—” he started, with no idea what he was going to say, but he had inhaled too sharply and the rush of air down his throat sent him into an involuntary coughing fit.

Blossom thumped his back. “Are you okay?”

_That was so not cool_ , he thought miserably to himself as his coughs subsided. Still hoarse, he croaked, “Yeah, just... just thirsty.”

She blinked at him. “Well... there's a really nice coffee shop down the street... I mean, you can probably get water here at the gift shop or something, but...”

She trailed off, pulling away from him a bit and fidgeting with her skirt. Brick rubbed his throat, staring at her and stunned at the sudden opportunity.

“No, I...” He cleared his throat, swallowed. “That sounds fine. The coffee shop, I mean. Where is it?”

“Oh, just down...” Blossom pointed out the doors. “Just... um, I'll show you.”

***

Boomer excused himself two-thirds of the way through the movie and left their complex, wandering outside into the late afternoon sunlight. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the movie, or the company. But it was weird, sitting there with the rest of No Neck Joe and not... well, it just felt weird, and Boomer got uncomfortable and thought maybe he should leave.

He didn't really have anywhere to go, though. He would've defaulted to a music store or something, but that wasn't really keeping in line with his promise to Bubbles. A promise he felt compelled to keep. He realized she couldn't actually force him to, but it was Bubbles, and he just thought...

He shook his head. Obviously the music store was out. And for all that he was well-liked by a lot of people at school, he didn't have a fallback group to hang out with or call up. Even the group that would invite him and Bubbles out to karaoke didn't really feel like _his_ group.

Lacking other options and partially out of a deep-rooted desire to see her, he called Bubbles.

“Well, hi there, boyfriend.” Even when warped and tinny through a cell phone, she still sounded sweet.

He cleared his throat. “Hi. Um... what are you up to?”

“Just getting ready to make dinner. What about you?”

“Nothing. I was wondering if, um, you were busy or something?”

“Well, Buttercup's out, and so's the Professor. Blossom's been out all day and I haven't heard from her, but I'm assuming she's coming back for dinner.” A pause, then: “Have you eaten yet?”

Boomer thought of the brownies and popcorn he'd had back at his place. “Yeah, but just junk. Not, like, dinner or anything.”

“How about you come over, then?”

His heart swelled at the suggestion, but he gulped at the thought of her dad coming home to find him there...

“Just give it a few; I'll have to power down the Boyfriend Killing Machine—”

“Wh-what?” he squeaked.

“That's not its real name, me and my sisters just call it that.” He could hear her steps echoing in the house, evidently moving towards the control panel, wherever it was. “We didn't realize he had one set up until one of the guys I was dating tried to surprise me by sneaking in and scattering rose petals in my room.” She paused, then, “Poor Sanjay.”

An uncomfortable silence passed. Boomer was about to suggest maybe taking her out instead when she continued, “Anyway, me and Buttercup figured out how to turn it off by spying on him. It's in the garage and he sets it up whenever he leaves the house.” Boomer heard beeping on the other end, then, “Done. It'll need five minutes to power down, but then you can come in, no problem. See you, love you!”

Her sign-off caught him by surprise, and his nervousness was displaced by a surge of feeling for her. “Yeah! Um, yeah.” He swallowed, then mumbled, blushing, “You too.”

***

_Is this a date_? Blossom thought to herself as she played with her empty teacup and watched Brick ponder over the meager food offerings by the register. They'd been here for over an hour, not including the time at the museum.

_This kinda feels like a date_.

She would have been lying if she'd denied any interest in having a drink with Brick. Walking through the museum had felt a lot like that week of doing homework at his place—a little awkward, yes, but full of... promise.

They had school, so they talked about that until the subject had exhausted itself (though she didn't ask, what had he learned growing up, how had he gotten an education?). That was followed by a long stretch of awkward silence, during which Blossom tried to figure out the most casual way to bring up that guy... Smith, that was who Brick had mentioned before. She could've plunged headfirst into it and just asked, but she knew Brick would close up immediately, and possibly leave. She wasn't ready for that just yet.

_No_ , she'd thought as her eyes had traced the outline of his jaw, his neck, his broad shoulder as the fabric of his shirt shifted against it when he moved. _Not just yet_.

Now he was standing at the counter, his gaze passing over muffins and cookies and other pastries. When he'd gotten up he'd asked if she'd wanted anything.

“Another tea would be nice,” she'd said, and it wasn't until he'd already risen out of his chair and moved to the counter that she'd realized she hadn't given him any money for it.

She reached for her purse and paused. It would look so weird if she went up there to give him money for it now! Besides, he hadn't asked. Was he covering her? Wouldn't that _really_ make it a date? Then again, it was just a cup of tea, barely three dollars. She wasn't sure how this worked; she'd only dated Kris, and not for that long. Maybe she'd just try to pay him back when he sat back down. At least make the offer, or something.

He reappeared at the side of their table, placing her tea in front of her. She already had her wallet out of her purse and in her hand, and snapped it open.

“Here—”

Brick's hand closed the flap of her wallet down, where the snap button's _click_ seemed to echo in Blossom's head. His hand had alighted on top of hers; her skin tingled where he touched her, and she felt a sudden heat rise to her face.

“Don't worry about it.” His voice sent a shiver through her body, amplified by their slight contact, and she hastily pulled her wallet away and busied herself with stuffing it back into her purse.

“Thank you,” she said, suppressing a wince at the meekness of her voice.

“It's nothing.” He settled back into his chair. “So... _Agnes Grey_? You're a Brontë fan?”

“Huh?”

“Isn't that what you're doing your essay on?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. I mean, I haven't actually decided yet. I was just reading it for fun.” She sugared her tea and stirred. “I like Anne. I don't care much for her sisters' work.”

“I'll be honest.” He laughed, almost apologetic. “I don't read chick lit books.”

A tiny surge of irritation shot through her. “I wouldn't call classics of English literature 'chick lit.'”

“Oh, come on,” he said, brushing it off. “It's totally proto-chick lit. Romance, dashing suitors—”

“I might grant you _Wuthering Heights_ and _Jane Eyre_ could certainly be viewed as such, but Anne's works are a different story. Hers were much more like Jane Austen's than either of her sisters'.”

“Austen's like the queen of proto-chick lit—”

“What about you?” she interrupted. “Are you picking something by Camus?”

“What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “You seem to like his stuff.”

He chewed on this for a minute, during which the girl behind the counter brought him a slice of cheesecake, warmed on a plate with two forks. Blossom took one automatically.

“I do,” he said. “Don't know if I'll do the essay on something of his, though. What made you think I'm a fan?”

“That was how you got into AP English, wasn't it? I was there when Mr. Bean came gushing to Mrs. Yang. Also, I saw him on the shelves in your room. You know, when you were sick.”

“Perceptive of you.”

“What do you like about him? Are you an absurdist?” Not that she was trying to ascribe a deeper meaning to Brick's affinity for Camus, but in a weird way she thought it might fit.

“I wouldn't say I'm as much of an absurdist as I am a fan of absurdist literature.”

“Do you...” Blossom thought back to the words he'd scribbled in that collection of essays. _I think my life is of great importance, but I also think it is meaningless._

His eyes were lifted, waiting for her to go on. She wanted to ask: Did he really think his life was meaningless? But it seemed such an odd question to just come up, and heavy besides.

Unable to continue, she took a forkful of cheesecake, then realized she'd just dug into Brick's food without even asking.

“Oh my God,” she said, muffled, dropping her fork onto a napkin and flushing scarlet. “I... oh, God, I'm sorry! It was just there, I wasn't even thinking! I won't take another bite, I swear—”

He was laughing, amused at her flustered reaction. “Chill! It's fine. I don't... I don't mind sharing. If you're that hungry, I mean.”

She swallowed her bite, her guilt dissipating as she watched him take a bite for himself, from the other end of the slice. He nudged the plate towards her.

“I don't mind,” he said around the fork in his mouth, staring at the plate. His voice sounded odd, a little strained, even. “It's not a big deal. I don't mind sharing it with you.”

***

“Okay, I'm turning around,” Buttercup said, her face bright red and her expression pained as she acted on her promise. “This is, like, the most awkward sex scene ever. Somebody mute it.”

“Have you seen _Oldboy_ before, Buttercup?” Harry asked.

“No.”

“Fuck, if you think it's awkward now...” Butch muttered, muting it for her benefit.

“Hey!” the twins protested. “Don't kill the sound!”

“They're fucking subtitles, dumbasses,” Butch said. “Like you understand Korean!”

“Is it over yet?” Buttercup asked.

“Yeah, it's over,” Butch said, and she turned around. It was not over.

“Butch, you prick, you suck,” she snapped, whipping back around and flinging a pillow blindly over her shoulder. It whacked Mitch in the head.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, Mitch.” She raised her voice over Butch's laughter. “Butch, you fucking prick. You fucking God damn prick.”

“It's over now, for real,” he choked out through his laughter.

“Is that fucker telling the truth?” she asked the rest of the room.

“Yes,” the rest of the room said.

She turned around, then yelped and twisted back towards the wall as the guys exploded into laughter.

“I hate you all!” she screeched, flinging pillows off the couch and every which way behind her. The guys scrambled to save their food and drinks, still chortling. “You all _suck_! I know where you fuckers live, seriously! I'll burn in hell before I ever watch another movie with you guys!”

***

Boomer sipped at the lemonade Bubbles had poured for him when he'd arrived. He was leaning on the counter, transfixed by his girlfriend as she bounced around the kitchen, singing and dancing along to the music spilling out of the stereo in the living room. She had a really nice dress on—seriously, it was adorable—and every time she twirled the skirt of it flew up, exposing a great deal of thigh. She'd tied an apron over the dress, and Boomer found himself sighing over the littlest details, like how she wiped her hands on the apron, or how she kept adjusting the strap around her neck, or how she played with the tiny ribbons on the pockets as she mouthed the recipe to herself, brow furrowed in concentration while she read.

She turned to him. “I hope you don't mind being vegan for one night.”

The ice in his glass clattered as he set it down on the counter. “Um, no. It's okay.”

She beamed at him. “Good.” Turning back to the cookbook, she started to twirl a strand of her hair—freshly washed and slightly wavy as it dried. “Just so you know, I'm doing a pasta salad—really simple, and the colors are so pretty...”

“Uh huh,” he said, sliding his glass back and forth on the counter.

“You know, I don't think I've ever had a boyfriend over here for dinner.” She giggled. “It's neat!”

The smile she was throwing his way was the sort that men killed other men over. Boomer twitched a glazed and distracted smile back at her, feeling nothing but a soul-deep affection as he did so.

The music in the living room moved into the next track, and her eyes lit up. “Omigosh! I love this song!” She started grooving a little, _da da da_ 'ing the musical accompaniment before the lyrics started up, and her lighthearted cheerfulness was so inspiring, so infectious, that Boomer laughed and moved into the kitchen with her, snatching up a couple of utensils and tapping a beat out on the counter as he joined in the singing. She didn't notice—neither of them did, at first—until he moved up a fifth and started harmonizing. It was then she stopped and stared at him, the glow in her expression subsiding.

Boomer's voice faltered, and he stilled the impromptu drumsticks in his hands, remembering his promise to her. The music trilled on, its bright, predictable melody now obnoxious and overbearing.

Boomer lowered the ladle and spatula he'd grabbed, and stammered, “S-sorry. Sorry. I wasn't... I wasn't thinking—”

“No, I wasn't either.” She lifted her feet and started floating towards the living room. “You know, I'll just go turn it off—”

“No, wait, you don't have to—I won't start that up again, I'll just keep my mouth shut—”

“It's okay, it's the last track anyway,” she called back.

“Really, Bubbles, let it—”

The stereo died, and he trailed off. He sighed, tossed the utensils on the table, and trudged back to his original spot, where his glass—now filled with half-melted, lemonade-flavored ice—dripped a pool of condensation onto the counter.

***

“I still can't believe you don't dream,” Blossom said, shaking her head.

“No, I _do_ dream. The difference is I'm aware of when I am.”

“How did that whole thing start? How old did you say you were?”

His lips puckered a bit in thought; Blossom's eye was drawn to the movement of his mouth. “I think eleven or twelve.”

She recalled a fragment of a previous conversation. “Around the time you left Him?”

A part of her almost regretted asking. He paused, the openness of his expression closing off very slightly. “Yes.”

_He's going to leave_ , she realized, almost floored by the disappointment. _I've done it now_.

“I guess I just felt... better, when we did,” he went on, surprising her. “As if everything... as if my life was finally my own. And I guess it was such a huge life adjustment for me that it leaked into my dreams.”

“You still lucid dream? Even now?”

“Haven't stopped.”

“Mmm.” She stared at the lip of her teacup. How many cups had she drunk? How many cups of coffee had he had? That was a lot of caffeine; they'd had to temper the effects with food and water, so the table was littered with empty plates and two half-finished bottles of water. He'd paid for almost everything; she'd bought the waters.

_Guess I'm not eating dinner tonight_. After the cheesecake, they'd shared five more snack-y things from behind the counter.

A light snicker drew her attention, and she looked at him. “What?”

“You just,” he started, then he laughed a little more fully and tried again. “You just got this look on your face that said something like, 'Oh my God, it's getting late,' or, 'I've ruined my dinner,' or something else equally goody-goody.”

She felt her face flush at the comment, a reflexive reaction thanks to Buttercup's barbed admonitions of Blossom's Goody-Two-Shoes inclinations growing up.

Brick read her expression like a book. “Obviously you get that a lot,” he jibed, and she actually blushed more. The blushing was mostly brought on by her embarrassment, but a part of her reaction was also thanks to that teasing smile on Brick's face, a smile that she wasn't used to receiving without malice behind it. It struck her that yes, it was late (she'd left the house at two, and here it was just past seven), she had ruined her dinner, she hadn't started her extra credit like she'd originally planned, she hadn't even called home to tell them where she was... all because of her reluctance to leave the boy sitting across from her now.

“Actually, Blossom,” he said, and the sound of her name on his lips sent a strange, invigorating shudder down her spine. “What is the most rebellious thing you've done? Ever?”

It took her a moment to process the question, though once she had it wasn't any easier to answer. In a panic she racked her brain for something... she knew there were things she'd done, bad things, things that went against that Goody-Two-Shoes image, but the question had caught her off guard and she couldn't call any of it to mind.

Brick was smirking at her. “Can't think of anything, can you?”

“There're things,” she said, a little defensively. “I just... I just can't think of it, but I know—”

“I guess you kissing Kris at Prom counts,” he said, and hot shame flooded through Blossom at the mere mention of it. “No one expected you to do that.”

She looked down and clenched a napkin in her lap, wanting to shred it. Suddenly memories spilled over in her mind, and she looked up at Brick, almost triumphant.

“I beat Mojo Jojo up for candy,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I let our dad steal toys for us when he was sleepwalking. _I_ stole an expensive set of golf clubs for him.” She blinked; there was more—

“A regular Bonnie Parker, aren't you?” he said, and she wished she would stop getting that shiver every time he spoke, every time he looked at her. And—she realized this with a twisted thrill—Brick would not stop looking at her. His last comment... kinda indicated this was flirting. This was flirting, wasn't it? He was flirting with her! Was he doing it intentionally? Was he trying to freak her out? Or—and the thought surged through her, a current of hope that she couldn't shoot down—was he just doing so, unawares, unplanned, simply because he wanted to flirt with her?

They'd been here for hours, after all. Again the question _Is this a date_? crossed her mind, again that raw hope flared in her chest, beating its insufferable little wings against her ribcage.

“So, Miss Parker,” he went on ( _A nickname_ , she thought despairingly, _He just gave me a nickname_ ), “you're a fine dancer. Ever been clubbing?”

She blinked in surprise. “What? No, of course not. I'm underage.”

“Ah. Right.” He settled back, a knowing smile on his face, as if he'd expected the answer.

She sputtered a bit, then added loftily, “And that aside, no one's ever asked me—”

“Want to?” he asked, and her heart rocketed into her throat. The smile had disappeared from his face. He looked almost forcedly neutral. There had been no teasing element to his voice when he'd said it—and he'd said it so casually!—and even his eyes weren't glittering with telltale mischief. No, he'd just asked her. Simply, casually. And now he was watching her, his eyes lifted in question, waiting for her answer.

She swallowed, trying to think, trying to weigh her options ( _What answer is there but NO_?! screamed her head, and yet another voice cried, _But, but_ , and keened at the hours they had shared together today, the conversation, the lack of fighting and insults).

And all the while, Brick waited for her to make her decision, trying to—through sheer mindpower—will his heart to stop railing inside the cavity of his chest, fearful that the deafening jackhammer beat of it would reach her and give every last bit of him away.

***

“You know, Buttercup,” Butch announced as she passed the tupperware of snickerdoodles his way, “whoever happens to nail you down and marry you is going to be a lucky fucking guy. Or girl.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, smacking him with the lid as he bit into his cookie.

“They'd eat well, that's for sure,” Harry added, as an old Dario Argento movie played in the background.

“Your kids would be lucky, too,” Floyd jumped in, and Buttercup picked up a nearby pillow and threw it into his face.

“The hell I'm having kids!”

“He didn't mean _now_ ,” Butch teased. “I can see you popping out, like, seven of the fuckers, though.”

“You're going to miss having teeth, bastard,” she snarled, pulling back her fist.

“But you'd need people to cook for!” Butch cried.

“What about cooking for _myself_?”

“What a sad life that would be.” Lloyd _tsk_ ed, shaking his head.

“You guys are stupid.” She stuffed a snickerdoodle into her mouth and recapped the tupperware.

“These are awesome, Buttercup,” Mitch said,

“Thank you, Mitch.” After a pause, she added, “See? No wonder Mitch was the only guy I dated.”

A sudden, awkward silence fell over the room. Buttercup, seeming to have regretted her attempt at comedy, started to devour her snickerdoodle. Butch stared at her from the corner of his eye. Her customary smirk and hard expression had given way to uncertainty and she was clearly upset with herself.

The laugh he forced sounded natural enough, and everyone turned to look at him.

“Don't lie, you dyke,” he said, still forcing a snicker. “Sorry to break it to you, Mitch, but you were just a beard.”

The room was still silent for a moment, then the rest of the guys broke into laughter, too, and Buttercup snapped to and punched him in the face.

“Fuck you, Butch!” she cried, but she was smiling, relieved.

Butch maneuvered her fist away from him and announced to the rest of the room, “She just couldn't fake it any longer! She had to be true to herself and accept her love of chicks!”

“You guys are going to find it real fucking funny when my girlfriend's hotter than all of yours put together,” she said, waving a hand around the room.

“Wait, you wanna put them together? Like, as in an orgy?” Butch asked, and got a faceful of pillow.

Ignoring him, Buttercup went on, “Seriously, if all of us had girlfriends, I'd bet you a million fucking dollars that _mine_ would be the hottest.”

“You're probably right,” Harry admitted.

“I think it'd mostly be due to us seeing you date a lady,” Mitch said. “Try and picture Buttercup with a hot chick, guys. Really.”

The room paused, and several pupils dilated.

“Wow,” the twins said, a little breathlessly.

Blushing, Buttercup flew to her feet and made for the kitchen. “Ha ha, fuckers. Who wants a soda?”

“Shh shh shh,” Butch hissed, staring vacantly into the distance. “I'm picturing you with Blossom right now—”

“ _Cut it out, perv_!” Buttercup shouted, and shot a soda can at him that exploded in his face.

***

Blossom's hands were numb as she fumbled through her contacts list, then hit Bubbles' entry.

Her sister picked up on the second ring. “Blossom! Hey! I was getting worried about you—”

“Hi, Bubbles, yes, sorry,” Blossom said, spending her entire arsenal of one-word responses in one fell swoop. “I... I meant to call earlier.”

“What happened?”

“Just... lost track of the time.” She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, where Brick was inspecting the side mirrors of his car.

“Oh, okay.” Bubbles sounded chipper, unconcerned. “Well, we just—I mean, I just sat down to dinner. The Professor's putting in some overtime so he can have tomorrow free for us,”

_Tomorrow_ , Blossom thought. They were making a family day of it tomorrow, so she shouldn't stay out late...

She pulled her phone away to glance at the time in the corner of the little screen. It wasn't even eight yet. As long as she left for home at a reasonable hour...

“So did you want me to set something aside for you?” Bubbles was asking, and Blossom brought the phone back to the side of her head. “Buttercup's out watching movies with the guys. It's just me tonight. Totally just me. By myself. All by my lonesome.”

Something about her tone was off, and Blossom furrowed her brow. “What about Boomer?”

“We saw each other earlier today,” Bubbles said, a little too quickly and casually, but before Blossom could press the issue she heard Brick cough and scuff his shoe along the gravel, and all thoughts of further inquiry dissolved out of her mind.

“Oh.” What were they talking about? What had Blossom called about? “I... just wanted to say, Bubbles, you shouldn't wait up for me.”

“How's that?”

“Well, I... I already ate, kind of, and now I'm thinking of going to...” Blossom's gaze darted to and fro. “I'm thinking, since I'm out, I'm going to do some shopping—”

Almost instantly she realized it was the wrong thing to say. Bubbles was practically bouncing on the other end. “Ooh! Shopping! Shopping where? Oh, maybe I'll come out and join you; I have this top I forgot to exchange—”

“Shopping for books!” Blossom blurted in a panic. “The bookstore! I'm going to the bookstore to shop for books!”

Bubbles stopped bouncing. “Oh.” The exuberance had disappeared from her voice.

Blossom could feel Brick's eyes on her, and she could not stop herself from blushing. “So... don't wait up for me.”

“Okay,” Bubbles mumbled, petulant. “Well, I'll see you later, Blossom.”

“Yeah, sure.” Now her heartbeat was quickening, the numbing tingle on her skin growing. _I'm really doing this_ , she thought, and felt almost separate from her body. _I can't believe I'm really doing this_.

She and Bubbles exchanged their goodbyes and hung up. This was it.

She tried to keep the fear out of her face as she turned to Brick, who was grinning. “The bookstore, huh?”

“I... it was the only way to discourage her from coming,” Blossom said. Her eyes were drawn to his hand—he was leaning against the passenger side door of his car, and his mitt was already on the handle.

“Ready?”

_What am I doing_?

She nodded.

Brick tugged at the handle of the door and opened it wide, then waited as she—clutching her purse for support—drew close on shaky legs. When she was settled in the seat he closed it on her, gently (“Watch your skirt,” he warned), and then floated around the front to the driver's seat.

Blossom stared at the dash in a daze, remembering how excited Cindy had been when Brick had offered her a ride. Now here was Blossom, in the very seat Cindy had gaped at her from. In Brick's car. With Brick.

She swallowed as he turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, its vibrating thrum shivering through her seat. He glanced at her and held his gaze, and she stared dutifully straight ahead until his silent watching became too much to bear.

“What is it?”

His eyes flicked to the side panel. “Your seat belt. I mean, not that I would crash, and not that a measly car crash would seriously injure you or me, but all the same.”

She colored and snatched at the seat belt, bringing it around, over, and then fumbled with the act of clicking it into place. She was nervous; the thing wouldn't connect, and she laughed apologetically, almost humiliated by her ineptitude, her complete and total lack of poise—

Brick's hand alighted on the plastic handle of the belt and guided it, locking it in place. She went still at their brief skin contact.

“Don't be so nervous,” he said.

_Easy for you to say_ , she thought. “I just... I've never done anything like this before.” Nor did she _know_ anybody who had ever done this before. She and her sisters were too young to go out dancing in nightclubs or anything like that; if she'd had to put her money on someone she'd have put it on Buttercup, but clubbing wasn't really Buttercup's scene. Buttercup had gone to nightclubs, yes, but only to see bands she liked with the guys, and never out dancing...

Brick put the car into reverse and twisted to see out the back, setting his hand on the headrest of Blossom's seat. The nearness of his hand to her cheek sent another thrill surging through her, and she eyed the line of his torso as it twisted, almost gracefully, a slight curve against the cushion.

“Don't worry about it.” He laughed as he settled back, and that wondrous line disappeared. “You've got me with you.”

***

“What was your sister calling about?” Boomer asked as Bubbles served him a bowl of pasta salad.

“Blossom's going to the bookstore.”

“Oh. Thanks,” he said, accepting the bowl she handed him. He waited for her to serve herself, then took a bite as soon as she was settled.

The room was silent for awhile, save for the clinks of their forks against the bowls and the crunching of food. Boomer's eyes were on her all the while, reflecting with a dazed sort of disbelief on the image of her moving through the kitchen, apron tied around her waist. She had looked so... so wifely, almost, or motherly, and when the thought had first entered his brain he'd blushed, because the only way for that thought to go was to put him in place as her husband.

He cleared his throat and shook his head, diving into his salad with renewed vigor. Bubbles looked at him.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and added, _Honey_ , in his mind.

“What do you think of the food?”

He swallowed. “Delicious.”

“I can tell,” she said, suppressing a little laugh. “You're really digging into it.”

“Mmph,” he mumbled around a mouthful of penne and fantasizing about the two of them at a dinner table in their own house, Boomer with his workday suit still on and Bubbles with that adorable little apron and that adorable little dress sitting down to dinner as cookies baked and they called their kids to—

He dropped his fork with a clatter and covered his face with one hand, and Bubbles' hand flew to his arm.

“What's wrong?!”

“Nothing,” he said hastily. _Nothing, honey, sweetie, baby, angel, darlinOKAY BOOMER STOP_. “Just... need a moment to clear my head.”

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine. Fine. Just... my brain's being stupid.” He smirked at her from behind his hand. “You know... just being myself.”

She settled back, a frown on her face. “I don't think you're stupid.”

He moved his hand away from his eyes and rested his chin on it. “Thank you for thinking that.”

She stared at him a moment longer, pouting, then went back to her food. Boomer did likewise.

“You know,” she said, after awhile, then shook her head, laughing a little. “This is going to sound so weird.”

Boomer looked at her as he chewed, intrigued by her shy blush. “Hmm?”

She pushed her food around her bowl. “Just... sitting down, eating dinner together all by ourselves in the house...” She laughed again, and glanced up at him. “It feels like we're married or something, you know?”

His throat constricted as he looked at Bubbles. _Honey. Sweetie. Darling._

“Oh my God, I'm so weird!” She laughed and covered her face with her hands. “Don't listen to me. Forget I said it.”

Boomer reached to pull one of her hands away from her face, and she blinked as he brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then he just held it, right there on the table, and smiled at her as he resumed eating. After a second she did the same.

It carried on for about a minute. And then:

“Okay, Boomer, I'm sorry to break this sweet and wonderful mood, but I'm not a lefty and I can't even hold my fork right. Can I have my hand back?”

***

They drove to Citysville to avoid the high probability of anybody in Townsville recognizing their resident Superhero Team Leader attempting to go clubbing. After asking, Blossom told Brick yes, he could drive with the top down, and no, she wasn't worried about her hair because she went flying around all day at much higher speeds than this and she managed, all the same.

The wind whipping her hair back in a red-orange blur behind her was a sight, and Brick found himself stealing glances at her almost every moment he got. The collar of her shirt flapped against her neck, smooth and almost glowing in the dim dusk light. Her modest skirt fell in waves, curving up just along her knees, and her legs seemed to disappear into the shadowed well of the bucket seat. Her legs were the worst, actually. Brick had to struggle to keep his eyes above the dash and was always overcome with the involuntary urge to wet his lips when his gaze slid over her lower half.

He'd looked up a place on his phone while Blossom had been on with Bubbles. Someplace busy, but not so popular that they might risk being recognized...

He pulled over about a block away and took a deep breath. Blossom was looking around the dark street they were on as he punched the button to raise the top.

“This isn't it, is it?” she asked, dubious. There were nothing but closed shops on this street.

“No, it's around the block. Just parking. And I wanted to... I dunno, prep you.”

Her eyes widened, the faintest glimmer of fear flickering up before she said coolly, “What kind of prepping, exactly?”

He looked at her, backlit by the yellow glow of a street lamp, and indicated her purse. “You won't wanna take that in.”

“What? Why?”

“Too awkward to hold onto while you're dancing, and with so many people around you wouldn't want to leave it just lying somewhere. Pull out what you need and stuff it all in your pockets.”

“I'm afraid I don't have any.”

“You can use mine, then.”

She opened her purse and looked inside blankly. “What could I possibly need in there?”

“Probably nothing,” he admitted. Too young to drink, and whatever ID she had would indicate she was underage...

She handed him her cell phone; he pocketed it. “Won't they check ID?”

He smirked. “That's the trick.” He glanced at her bow. “They'll let anyone in if they look old enough.” _Or hot enough_.

She stuffed her purse into the glove box and paused after shutting it. “What am I doing?” she whispered.

Brick considered answering for her, but he wasn't sure what would sound right. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what she was doing either; he hadn't even really considered much of where tonight was going, and how they'd wound up here was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. He hadn't planned any of this. It was just... happening.

Blossom squared her jaw and threw open the passenger door, a little aggressively. Brick watched her as he rose out of his own seat—she stamped her feet, patted her skirt, adjusted her top. Despite the wind in her hair for most of the ride over, it still looked only slightly messy, and was really kind of incredibly sexy.

Again he stared at her bow. She caught his gaze and reached a hand up to touch it.

“What? What's wrong?”

Brick floated over to her side—the sidewalk side of the street—and reached a hand for her hair. She pulled back, instantly suspicious.

“What?” she said, a little less friendly this time.

“The bow... kinda ages you down.”

She grasped it, petulant. “What are you—so what do you suggest?”

He stepped closer, trying not to think, because if he thought at all, if he _had been thinking_ at any point this entire evening, then they wouldn't have wound up here, together, about to walk around the corner and into a nightclub.

“May I?” he said, not realizing how gravelly his voice had gotten, and she stilled, lowering her hand. He took that as as good an affirmation as any.

With almost painstaking care, he undid the bow on her head, studied the feather-light fabric in his hands for a second, then, after considering her for a moment, reached to wrap it around her neck.

She inhaled sharply when he passed one end of it over her shoulder, and he bumped her with his other hand as he reached to pull that end back around to the front.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding very far away.

“That's okay,” she said, and his hand twitched as that breathless voice echoed in his brain. He hastily wound the rest of the ribbon gently around to form a loose choker and tied it.

“Okay, that's better,” he said, without looking at her, and turned, face on fire as he began walking. “Let's go.” He heard her scurry to catch up to him.

Around the corner was a different world, buzzing with people and lights. He met the collective gaze of a group of laughing guys as he rounded the corner, and realized with horror as their eyes shifted behind him that in an unfamiliar city like this it would be stupid to stand separate from one another...

He whipped around and crooked an arm around a stunned Blossom, resting his hand on her waist, and shot a warning glare at the group as he walked them both past.

Blossom had made a tiny _Eep_ noise as soon as he'd touched her, or something that had sounded like _Eep_ , but at least she hadn't batted him away or wrenched out of his grasp.

“Brick,” she gasped, recovering her voice. “Wh-what—”

“Sorry.” The heat of her body against his side was almost unbearable. “It's just... there's a lot of weird people around.”

She turned her eyes on him, disbelieving as she matched her steps to his. “That's very chivalrous of you.”

Brick didn't say anything, only took his cap off to swipe at his hair before readjusting it, bypassed the very short line of people waiting to get into the club, and walked straight up to the bouncer, their cover fees already in hand.

Brick was a little taller than average, but height was of little consequence, really; it was the way a person walked, how they carried themselves, that made a real impression. His very presence could be commanding by nature—at least when he allowed it to be—and he drew himself up, darkened his gaze as he measured the bouncer's stoic expression.

Eyes met, money exchanged hands, and at the sight of Blossom the bouncer broke into an approving grin and waved them inside.

Blossom twisted to look back. “He didn't ask for our IDs or anything.”

“Beautiful people don't get asked,” Brick replied, feeling cocky.

She had to raise her voice; the music was growing louder as they approached the floor. “But all those people were waiting—”

“Beautiful people don't get in line, either.”

“Well.” She huffed. “That's not very fair.”

Brick laughed; it was a dark, open room, thrumming from the music, and still early. They had tons of space, or at least enough to get started, and he suddenly felt so in the mood for this. The atmosphere was great, perfect, just what he needed after what had been an emotionally draining past few weeks, and pressed to his side was the fucking icing on the cake.

“Not that this should come as any news to you,” he said with a smirk, “but life isn't very fair.”

The icing vaguely acknowledged his arrogance with a mild glare, but she was distracted by the gyrating people surrounding them on the dance floor.

“ _That's_ dancing?” she said, in a voice that indicated she didn't think much of it.

Brick cast the room a perfunctory glance as they came to a stop. “Marginally.” His hand was still on her waist, his smirk still lighting his expression, and he was feeling fucking fantastic.

He spun Blossom around into his arms and she withheld a yelp. Those bewildered doe eyes of hers gazed up at him.

Proper closed position. “Why don't we show them what _real_ dancing looks like?”

***

“I can't believe this fucker fell asleep.” Buttercup laughed from where she was lying on the living room floor, indicating Harry with her foot. The twins and Mitch were sitting in Butch's room by the open window, sharing a joint and chatting.

Butch had one of his own in hand, and he made a show of sucking in a deep breath and exhaling. _Army of Darkness_ played on the TV with the volume turned down.

She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “You sure smoke a lot of that shit.”

He shrugged. “Gotta smoke five times as much as a normal person to get high.”

“How'd you get into it, anyway?”

“Stole it from a guy at work.”

“Why?”

“Bored.”

“You bored now?”

He glanced at her. In truth, he was trying to make it look like he was getting high in an effort to... maybe get her to open up a bit. He didn't know how long the guys were going to be in his room, and he couldn't think of another opportunity to get Buttercup alone.

_Or partially alone_ , he thought, eyes flicking to the dozing form of Harry not ten feet away.

“Not really,” he said.

She settled back down on the floor, curling her arm and resting her cheek on it as she looked at Butch. Something about it made her look very feminine, and Butch held his breath a little longer before exhaling. He stared at her awhile, then realized she had just asked him something.

“What? Sorry, I missed that.”

She smirked. “I thought you said you had to smoke five times as much to get high.”

“Yeah... guess this is pretty strong stuff.”

“Anyway, I asked how old you were when you started smoking.”

He thought for a second. “Fifteen, I think. That sounds about right. It was like two years ago.”

“They let you do that? At work?”

“Not on the job.”

“But where you guys live?”

“They don't care as long as we do our job.”

She picked at a loose thread in the carpet. “You good at what you do?”

“I guess.”

“Hey, thanks for earlier.”

“Huh?”

She was still picking at that thread. “I was trying to be funny. I was trying... you know, to show I was over the whole breakup thing. Like, hey, I'm over it, I can joke about it.” A sardonic smile twisted onto her face. “I don't know. It was stupid.”

“It was a pretty dumb joke, I'll give you that.”

“Fuck you.” She laughed, crawling over to shove at him. He let her.

She sat back on her heels then, watching Butch as he took another drag. He let his eyes get heavy, dim, but watched her in his peripheral vision all the while.

She shifted and laid down next to him, her head near his, near enough to kiss. He only had to turn his head and close those short two inches that separated them.

“Seriously.” Her face filled his vision as Harry snored in the background and the movie played on. “Thanks.”

He allowed himself a slow blink and took care to exhale away from her before turning his head to hers.

“You're welcome.”

***

Bubbles checked the contents of the oven one last time. “Looking good.”

“I've never helped make a pie before,” Boomer said, drying his hands on a dish towel.

“You kinda still haven't,” Bubbles said with a laugh. Boomer was sort of useless in the kitchen, though she figured it was more out of inexperience than something resembling Blossom's genuine lack of talent for cooking.

“Hey! I, you know—rolled stuff. With the rolly thing. And I helped with dishes!”

“Yes, packing them into the dishwasher was a big ordeal.” She rolled her eyes theatrically and took the dish towel back from him to hang on the rack. “But seriously, thank you, Boomer.” She floated up to give him a kiss on the forehead. “You were a wonderful kitchen assistant.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

She giggled and tugged him out of the kitchen. “So... what do you wanna do now?” With a vague gesture at the living room, she suggested, “Um, maybe a movie? Or we could go for an evening walk...”

Boomer's eyes had trailed upward, and she followed his gaze to the open door of the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She looked back to see him now determinedly focused on the television, a guilty look on his face.

“You wanna see it?”

He looked at her in surprise.

“Only looking, obviously.” She feigned exasperation. “Silly boy.”

“Um... okay.”

At the top of the stairs she made him wait while she ducked in to make sure there wasn't anything crazy like bras or underwear strewn across the room—not that there usually was, but it didn't hurt to check. After ensuring the place was safe, she beckoned him in.

“Don't tell my sisters you've been up here, though. I don't think they'd take that very well.”

“Yeah, well...” He trailed off as he looked around, taking in the beds set up against three walls of the room. “You guys share a bedroom? Still?”

She shrugged. “Never stopped. I dunno. I mean, we used to gripe and moan about it, but... well, we tried sleeping in separate rooms once and that didn't work out. I guess we just like each other's company.”

Boomer nodded, still looking around. He grinned and then pointed. “I can guess which bed is yours.”

She looked at the tower of stuffed animals he was indicating next to her bed and laughed. “How ever did you guess?”

“I'm psychic.” He drifted over, his eyes glancing out the windows, studying an empty easel by her bed, passing over the vanity she and Blossom shared. He stopped upon reaching her djembe, standing in the corner, and beamed.

“This is the drum you told me about?” he asked.

She hesitated before answering, “Yeah.”

He pulled over the stool at the vanity and dragged the drum out, setting it between his knees. She tensed a little.

He passed his hands over the skin of it, a sad sort of smile on his face. Then, before she had a chance to feel sorry about asking him to give up something he had loved so much, he looked up at her and asked, “Play me something?”

Her eyes widened. “Huh?”

He stood up and waved for her to sit at the stool. “Here. I wanna hear you play.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, recalling how disappointed he'd looked not five seconds ago.

“Really.” He nodded as he reached a hand for her and pulled her close. “Play something for me.”

She sat down, a little hesitant, and angled the drum between her legs, adjusting her skirt as she did so. Boomer settled down on the floor, his back against her bed.

“Can you sing while you play, too?”

“Getting demanding, aren't you?”

“Well, I can't make any music for myself,” he said, and she clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks going slightly pink with shame. “No, stop, don't look like that. I'm not angry. I just... want to hear you play.” He laughed a little. “You know... since I can't make music for myself, you'll have to cover for the both of us.”

She gazed at him a long moment, then readjusted the djembe, tapped experimentally on it, and then, without taking her eyes off of his, began to sing.

***

There wasn't a clock visible from the dance floor of the club Blossom and Brick had gone to. In all honesty, though, the time was the furthest thing from Blossom's mind.

She and Brick had never danced together like this before, meaning out of their own volition and without the deadline of a performance. The only time she'd felt anything remotely similar was when she had subbed for Cindy. That seemed ages ago. That had been such an enlightening, enjoyable experience. Why had it taken so long to come to this, then?

Her heart skipped when he spun her, twirled her, guided her around him in a smooth, effortless arc. It felt so nice to have a partner who just _knew_ how to do it right, perfectly... And they were both right, both perfectly in step and in sync and in tune and so connected; it was unreal that they could just sense where the other's feet were and what they were about to do...

A couple of hours passed without either of them realizing it, until the people closed in on them as the night crowds came surging in. They were forced to draw closer to each other, though neither seemed to mind much.

Brick was a steady presence, his arms always around her—or, failing that, very close by—and several times when some strange guy would try to muscle between them, leering at Blossom, Brick would round her away and draw her even closer, glaring death threats at the offender. It would send a delighted little shiver down Blossom's spine. Not that Blossom couldn't defend herself, but it felt wonderful to know that Brick, of all people, was looking out for her.

The night went on and she lost herself in his arms, dancing with him, and at one point she realized how very close they actually were, how there was no room to really dance or move their feet. They were just pressed to each other, her face nestled in the hollow of his neck and her hands skittering along the thin fabric of his undershirt. Both of them were sweating like mad; it was unbearably warm in here but she felt no desire to pull away.

There was something almost intoxicating about the lights, the music, the whole room, and certainly Brick. She could count the little speckles of sweat on his neck, all the way down to a beautiful little spot on his chest, skin stretched taut over the sternum. Blossom thought hazily back to when she was a kid, how sweat had tasted a little sour and sweet, and wondered—

“Hey.”

She looked up, feeling Brick's hand pushing her hair back from her face and tilting her head up to look him in the eye. “Yes?” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally husky and raw, and her hands drifted along his back, feeling the muscles tighten under her touch.

“Let's go get some air,” he blurted, and she blinked.

“Okay.”

His hand closed on hers, and he began to carve his way through the crowd, Blossom close behind. It _did_ feel hot in here all of a sudden, stuffy, humid with people's sweat and drinks, and when they made it outside even the polluted city smell felt refreshing in their lungs.

Brick paused for the briefest moment outside to suck in a breath, and then they were moving down the street, back towards where he'd parked the car. Blossom felt a sticky mess—she really was soaked, she badly needed a shower, and her hair was an absolute disaster—but despite it, she could not believe how much she had enjoyed herself.

_I never would've expected it_ , she thought dizzily as she loped after Brick, her hand still clenching his. _Never. I can't believe how fun that was_. Even the obscene, skeezy people around them hadn't been enough to deter her mood. And in the hazy, yellowed street lamps, flickering in the dark, she knew with strangely ethereal clarity why that was.

She laughed in semi-disbelief, and he, him, Brick, he turned and stopped to look at her.

“What?” he asked, and his voice held onto that rough quality it'd taken on in the club. His eyes too were dark and heavy-lidded; he looked far away and yet that gaze still cut into her, stirred some painful longing in her chest. She let go of his hand and clasped at her front, feeling her damp shirt and how it stuck uncomfortably to her body, and that seemed very funny, so she laughed again. She realized with a start that she was still panting for breath, and stepped back a little, her chest heaving.

“I can't,” she started, and had to smile, take a breath again to collect herself. She shook her head and closed her eyes, said, “I can't,” again.

_I can't believe I had such a nice time today,_ she was thinking, trying to say, but she couldn't get enough air. The lights from the club still flickered behind her eyelids, intoxicating, dizzying, like Brick and the scent of the sweat on his neck.

“I,” she tried again, and opened her eyes. She froze, the lights behind her eyes disappearing.

Brick's hand touched her chin, skimmed along her jaw to the back of her neck, and he pulled her flush up against him and kissed her.

***

“My girl's got rhythm,” Boomer said affectionately into Bubbles' hair. They were sitting next to each other on her bed, cross-legged with their backs against the wall.

Her arm wound around his and she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“And the voice of an angel,” he went on. She nudged him.

“Stop. That's so cheesy.”

He responded by kissing her temple, and she closed her eyes and smiled. He looked around, spotted something on her pillow, and picked it up.

“Who's this?” he asked, and she looked up to see Octi in his hands.

She laughed, taking her precious childhood toy from him. “My bestest friend ever, and the first love of my life.”

“Really?” Boomer squinted at Octi. “He doesn't get jealous, does he?”

“Give him a second.” She held the purple octopus up so his sleepy eyes could look into Boomer's. She set him on top of Boomer's head. “Octi approves.”

Boomer exhaled. “Thanks for your blessing, Mr. Octi.” He reached up and shook a tentacle, eliciting more laughter from Bubbles.

“It's just Octi,” she corrected. “No need for formalities.”

Boomer took him down and placed him back on Bubbles' pillow. “What now?”

She shook her head, turning her face so her breath puffed out against his neck. “Nothing. Just this.”

He stroked her hair away from her face, again and again. “Okay.”

Her arm drifted across his chest, up around his neck. She kissed him there, feeling his pulse quicken and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His leg shifted uneasily; her dress had ridden up and her bare knee was resting on his thigh. He inhaled, about to say something, then seemed to change his mind and just sighed.

She couldn't help but tease him. “You're so cute when you get all scared.”

“What the—I do not get scared!” he cried, indignant. She held him fast so he couldn't pull away.

“Shh.” She lifted her head, kissed his chin.

He was still pouting. “M'not scared.”

“Of course you're not,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his downturned mouth. He made a little _Hmph_ noise and turned his face away from her.

Not one to be deterred, Bubbles bounced up on her knees and began to plant kiss after tender kiss against his unresponsive lips, a giggle threatening to spill out of her throat.

“You're such a five-year-old,” she teased; already his frown was disappearing and his arms wove around her waist, holding her close.

“I'm pretty sure five-year-olds don't kiss like this,” he murmured, and kissed her back, soft and slow. That was what Bubbles liked most about Boomer's kisses—how gentle they were, how hesitant. He _did_ come off as a scared little boy, more than he or anyone else could know.

They kissed with their eyes closed, and without realizing it Bubbles crawled into his lap as his kissing began to get braver, deeper—

A siren-like buzz blared, and she pulled away from him with a great deal of reluctance.

Boomer looked frightened. “Is that the Boyfriend Killing Machine?” he squeaked, despite his clear effort to not squeak.

“No.” Bubbles floated up and patted down her dress. “It's the hotline.”

***

For all that Buttercup had vocally expressed how much shit she was going to give Harry for falling asleep, she had no trouble dozing off herself.

Butch had stopped the DVD player; Harry was still conked out and Mitch and the twins had dashed out to the convenience store, overcome with the munchies and having eaten their way through all the treats Buttercup had brought over, as well as a box of Brick's cereal.

Buttercup had fallen asleep on the carpet, sprawled on her right side. Butch polished off a can of soda as he sat next to her, studying her sleeping face. He set the empty can on the coffee table and recalled that one photo of Buttercup sleeping in Mitch's bed, looking very much like she did here, with the exception of the long hair. Despite the length, her hair still curled in circular, wavy patterns against the carpet, like black ink on a blank canvas.

He settled himself down flat on his stomach and played with a strand of it, picking it up and letting it fall into a different pattern each time. He traced the path it painted—her hair was smooth, and it smelled like... like something. Maybe just like her.

He took the end of the strand and dusted it along her chin; she twitched and groaned as her hand swiped at her face, but she didn't wake up. She settled back into sleep, her angry brow relaxing and her lips parting.

Butch's eyes trailed down, tracing the outline of her body. Funny how girly Buttercup looked when she was asleep. Her breasts smushed a bit against the carpet, and the line of her hip struck him as exceptionally curvy. The shadows—shadows that tucked themselves in the crease of her fly and spread along her lower leg and in between her thighs in an almost-sensual manner—only heightened her sleeping girlishness.

Butch rested his chin in his hand, staring at her and wondering with a little irritation how often Mitch had borne witness to this exact image. Mitch had said that they'd never done anything worth mentioning, which sounded stupid to Butch. He didn't understand how any guy could stand to keep his hands off her when Buttercup looked like this.

Except him. But Butch was different. He didn't know how, but he was different.

_I get her_ , he thought, a little fiercely. _We're going through the same shit, we understand where we're coming from_. He'd never been able to talk about fighting with anyone else but her. Never mind that they hadn't talked about fighting or mortality or being better than everyone else in ages, nor had they even sparred, not once since the outburst at the beginning of the year...

_I'm different. I get it._

Buttercup inhaled deeply in her sleep and curled into herself a bit, her lips parting that much more. Butch glimpsed the faint white of her teeth, just beyond her bottom lip.

_She was never able to talk with Mitch about any of this shit_ , he thought, reaching a hand to stroke the swell of her lower lip. Buttercup's brow furrowed, but she didn't wake up, nor did she pull away from his touch.

Dimly, Butch applied a little pressure. She sighed in her sleep.

“Wake up, Buttercup,” he said, so quietly that only someone with superhearing would ever hear it. She shifted and made a little moaning sound that sent his mind reeling.

He sat up and scooted away from her, unsure of what the hell was going on with his brain. His mouth felt thick and sour from the soda and the part of his hand that had touched her tingled. He forced himself to pull his eyes away from her.

_I'm stoned_ , he thought, even though he'd barely smoked one joint. _It's the drugs. I'm just..._

Something went off, like an alarm, and Harry snorted as he shot up.

“I'm up, fuck, I'm up!” he shouted blearily.

Buttercup, too, had jerked awake, and she blinked before yanking her phone out of her pocket. She brought it to her face, her hair matted to her cheek and the imprint of the carpet embedded in her skin.

Butch resisted the urge to reach over and brush her hair away from her face as she slurred, “Hotline. Powerpuff hotline. It's Buttercup. What's up?”

***

It was a relatively chaste kiss, merely lips against lips, and it was with a great deal of reluctance that Brick pulled away from Blossom, unsure of what came next. His chest heaved with the arduous task of breathing—something was clearly wrong with him; he was breathing so hard—and the blood in his head was screaming, pounding as his heart jackhammered in his chest. He didn't untangle his hands from her hair, and then she looked up at him, and Christ, it was almost unbearable.

He felt her hands drift up, alight on his midsection, then, when he didn't pull away, they swept up his chest, along the side of his face and under his sweat-drenched cap into his sweat-drenched hair, and he gasped for one desperate gulp of air before she opened her mouth against his—

Her cell trilled a loud, earsplitting screech, and she yelped and they wrenched out of each other's grasp. They stared at each other for a brief, horrified moment, then she turned away and searched frantically on her person for her phone. Unable to find it, she paused, confused. Then she turned and stared at Brick's pants.

He jerked to and fumbled in his pockets for it—she'd given it to him in the car, of course, how had he forgotten? The distress signal was still beeping, loud and stubborn, and fuck, when had these pants grown so many pockets?

He finally located it and yanked it out, almost dropping it twice before practically throwing it at her. Again she turned away, and flipped it open.

“H-hello?” she said meekly, then cleared her throat and said, in a much more confident tone, “Blossom speaking.”

Brick ran an uneasy hand over his head, then realized his cap was gone. He looked around, spotted it laying on the sidewalk, and picked it up.

“Bubbles, hi... jewelry store? I—yes, I'll get on it. I'll be right there. See you. Yeah. Yeah, bye.” She shut her phone and turned, a little uncomfortably, to Brick. “I... I have to go.”

The shrill cry of the distress signal echoed in his head. “Right. Of course.”

“Can I grab my purse?”

Blossom followed Brick as he dashed to his car, opened the passenger side door, and dug her purse out of the glovebox. He handed it over and she looked at him, blushing as she shouldered it.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes.

“I...” she started, her face a bright, scalding red. “I'm... busy tomorrow.”

Something wrenched in Brick's gut. He bit his lip.

“But I'll see you Monday?”

He inhaled to steel his nerves before meeting her eyes. The hope in her face was almost crushing, but he forced himself to look her in the eye anyway and twitched his lips in some semblance of a smile.

“Yeah. Monday.”

She lifted off the ground, hovering. Now it was her turn to glance away. “I, uh... I had a really nice time today, Brick.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying to swallow down the lump that had risen in his throat.

She lifted her eyes to his again and still hovered there, unsure. Maybe waiting. But for what?

The memory of her lips pressed to his fluttered across his mind.

“You should—you have to go,” he urged, gesturing and blinking too much. “Your sisters are probably wondering about you.”

She nodded, a little too vigorously. “Yeah, okay.” And then, a smile, a smile that twisted a little knife into his chest. “Bye, Brick.”

“Bye,” he whispered, then shook his head and tried to say it again in a stronger voice, but she'd already taken off. His gaze followed the pink streak as it sailed back to Townsville, already fading in the dark night sky. Even after it was gone he stared upward, moving to lean his back against the driver's side door of his car.

He buried his face in his hands, feeling wretched.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and that didn't come out in as strong a voice as he would've wanted, either.

***

The next morning the Professor eyed Blossom with trepidation. He leaned over to Buttercup and Bubbles at the breakfast table. “What is wrong with your sister?”

They all watched as Blossom pranced about the kitchen, packing the picnic basket with food for their hike. She skipped to and fro, a distracted smile on her face.

“Nothing's wrong with me, Professor,” she sang. “It's a bright and pretty day, is all.”

The rest of her family exchanged looks. Blossom was not one for flightiness in the morning, especially on days where the family was going out. She was generally all business, harping on the rest of them about deadlines and missing daylight and why on Earth wasn't this stuff packed already, honestly, how could they expect to go anywhere if they were never prepared for _anything_?

“Um...” Bubbles started, then steeled herself with a smile and said, “That dress looks really nice on you, Blossom.” She had borrowed one of Bubbles'.

Blossom giggled and twirled for her family's benefit, ending with a little curtsy. “Doesn't it?”

Buttercup, after a horrified moment's contemplation, reached for Blossom's glass of milk and sniffed it.

Blossom glanced outside. “Oh, let me go put my hat in the car. I might forget it.”

“You never forget your hat,” the Professor pointed out warily. “If it gets over eighty degrees you never leave without one for fear of sunburn and skin cancer.”

Buttercup looked up. “Are we immune to that, by the way? The cancer, I mean.”

“Oh, Professor, you're exaggerating. Be right back!” Blossom floated out of the kitchen, humming all the while.

“Okay, you know it's like... Bubbles transplanted part of her brain into Blossom's body,” Buttercup said, gesturing with her spoon.

“I did not!”

“Of course you didn't, sweetheart,” the Professor soothed, placing a hand on Bubbles' shoulder. “Did Blossom do anything special yesterday?'

“Yes, let's run through Blossom's exciting day to see if we can unravel this little mystery,” Buttercup drawled. “First she goes to the museum. For _school_. For _extra credit_. Because she's Blossom, she spends, like, five hours there.”

“She ate something at some point,” Bubbles said. “She didn't come home for dinner.”

“I saw two bowls in the dishwasher,” the Professor said abruptly.

“I got hungry twice,” Bubbles said with a shrug.

“So, what, five hours between the museum and a place that serves food. Maybe six total. Then what?”

“Then the bookstore,” Bubbles said.

“Was she still there when the hotline buzzed?” Buttercup asked.

“I think so. I mean, I guess. I didn't ask.”

“Wasn't it, like, three hours after she told you she was going to the bookstore?”

“Your sister could spend an entire day there, easily,” the Professor pointed out.

“What bookstore is open past eleven?” Buttercup asked before polishing off her milk. At that moment Blossom flew back into the kitchen, flowers in hand.

“Look! These were blooming in the yard!” She had tucked one in her hair, and now did the same to Bubbles and their father. “One for you, one for you...” She reached Buttercup, who was glowering at her, daring her to touch her hair. Blossom studied her for a moment, then plunked her last flower into Buttercup's empty milk glass.

“And one for you,” she said, unperturbed. Buttercup scrutinized the flower in her milk glass with what looked like ill-concealed malice.

Blossom sighed as she threw open the window and leaned against the sill, staring off into the direction of the city. “Oh my gosh, you guys,” she said, her voice and stance wistful, dreamy. “Isn't it just a lovely day?”

The Professor looked between Blossom and Bubbles, then whispered, “Are you sure you didn't—”

“No part of my brain is in that girl's body, I swear.”

***

Boomer eyed their leader from the kitchen, then leaned over to Butch and whispered, “What's wrong with him?”

Butch turned and looked at Brick, who was seated at the kitchen table with his head buried in his arms. He was still wearing the clothes he'd gone out in yesterday and smelled of day-old sweat.

“Nothing's wrong with me,” he said, his voice muffled through his arms. “It's just...” He trailed off, then concluded lamely, “Nothing's wrong with me.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Butch said, bored. “Nothing wrong with a guy who slept at the kitchen table in yesterday's clothes and smells like a gym bag. Totally normal.”

“I didn't sleep,” Brick said.

“Oh, well, in _that_ case,” Butch snarked, rolling his eyes. “That does make it a _little_ weird.”

“Have you eaten anything since you got home, Brick?” Boomer asked.

“I'm not hungry,” Brick muttered, a little petulantly. “Besides, somebody ate all my cereal.”

Butch looked around and whistled.

“Well, do you want anything?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Not even a shower?” Butch interjected.

“Later,” Brick responded, head still buried.

“If you say so.”

His brothers flipped on the TV and channel-surfed while Brick remained in the kitchen, his position unchanged. Eventually they retired to their own rooms, leaving Brick by himself at the table.

Slowly, Brick lifted his head. He stared at the sleeves of his shirt, which reminded him of last night. Not that much of anything _wasn't_ reminding him of last night. But seeing his clothes made him feel like he should get out of them.

He rose against the protests of his stiff, aching body and drifted to his room, shutting the door with a soft _click_. Starting with his cap, he peeled his clothes off piece by piece as he floated to his bathroom. The porcelain tile was cold; he suppressed a shiver and cranked the water warm. It felt good to wash the stickiness off of him, even if running his hands over his hair and around his neck and shoulders reminded him of her touch.

When he was done, toweled dry, and clothed again, he laid on his back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He hadn't turned the lights on and the daylight filtering through his blinds was dim; his room got more afternoon sun than it did morning. His body was grateful for the comfort of his bed, but despite the physical relief Brick didn't fall asleep. He turned over on his side, curling up a little.

_I can't believe I did that_.

What a stupid thing to do. His entire day yesterday had just been one bad decision after another; he hadn't thought anything through and as a result he had kissed her and now, now he had to contend with the consequences of his stupidity.

_I shouldn't have taken her to the club._ No, it went farther back than even that. He shouldn't have spent so much time with her at the coffeeshop. He shouldn't have sought an excuse or an opportunity to allow them to spend any more time together than was absolutely necessary. He shouldn't have walked around with her at the gallery, shouldn't have talked to her so much, definitely shouldn't have driven her around in his car or danced with her or touched her at all—

His memory fluttered to that moment of complete brainlessness when he had looked at her, flushed and panting and smiling, still looking radiant even in that ugly yellow light, and something had welled up in him, something that had made him reach for her and pull her close and press his mouth to hers.

His chest twinged, much like it had yesterday at so many points during the day, points where he should've turned around and come home. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head, wishing he'd never kissed her. Because when Brick had kissed Blossom, something had happened.

He'd felt something in him—no, her— _no_ , in the very core of the Earth—shift. Something bright. Something like a match sparking into life. Something heavy, otherworldly, maybe even Heavenly, if he'd believed in a thing as silly as Heaven. The whole world—or maybe the universe, he wasn't sure—had changed.

_I'm overdramatizing things_ , he thought. _It was the moment._ He had been wrapped up in it, in the atmosphere of the club and the dim city lights and the pretty girl. That was all Blossom was, really. Just a pretty girl. Her lips had been as soft as anyone else's. They'd puckered slightly, then yielded to the pressure of his, maybe with just a touch more hesitation. It hadn't been that much different from kissing Cindy, or any other girl.

_Except_...

He thought of Blossom in the museum, in the coffeeshop, in the club. He thought of her dancing, fighting, screaming at him until she was blue in the face. He thought of her in all the hundreds upon hundreds of photos he'd taken, of all the sketches he'd done of her, trying to capture that beauty—and before he could stop himself he was thinking _She is, she_ is _beautiful, she's stunning._ She was almost heartbreakingly so.

And he had kissed her. And the worst part of it was how... _fulfilled_ he'd felt when he had, how... like he was a puzzle, and she'd been the missing piece.

_It's just the hormones._ He was a teenager. It was to be expected. Of course he'd react to things like this with more emotion. He was only seventeen, after all. Teenagers were like walking emo bombs. Everybody was looking for a connection, and teenagers would react more strongly than anyone else. There were studies on this. It was all due to hormones. It was all chemical.

Brick ran a hand through his hair. That made it a little easier, when he took the time to break things down like this. It cleared his head. He'd forgotten for a second—or a day—that something like this absolutely could not happen because of who she was and who he was and what he wanted—no, _needed_ —to do with his life. In all the time he'd been away from JS he'd lost track of his priorities. She had distracted him. And instead of remembering that she was a former enemy and would continue to be one if he managed to succeed at taking control of JS, he had let her. Fuck, he'd practically invited her to do so.

The buzz of the hotline last night echoed in his head. Even if he was seriously interested—which was impossible, by virtue of his age—she was a Powerpuff Girl. It'd never work. _They'd_ never work.

Those wretched fucking adolescent emotions overcame him again, and he was filled with a sad sort of melancholy as he remembered how her hands had felt on his body, how they had brushed along the nape of his neck as she'd moved in for a second kiss.

The door to his room flew open, and he shot up.

“What the fuck, you two—”

“Cheer up, Emo Brick,” Boomer announced. Butch trailed in after him, a lit joint in his hand. His bed bounced as his brothers flopped onto it.

“Don't suppose you're gonna tell us what's up,” Butch said, taking a puff.

Brick sighed and leaned back on his hands. “Fuck off.”

“Thought so.” Butch offered Brick his joint. Brick stared at him for a second, then reached for it. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, then passed it on to Boomer, who did the same. The joint made its rounds, over and over in an endless circle as the boys reclined on Brick's bed.

“Yep,” Butch said, after some time.

Boomer laughed. “You said it.”

Brick watched the smoke spill out of his mouth and float up to the ceiling. In the dim daylight the smoke could look like anything, like a girl, or a dancing couple. He blew it away.

“Yeah.”

***

Blossom's good mood persisted all the way through Monday morning, inspiring her father to go through the medicine cabinet “just in case.” Honestly. Her family was being so silly.

She woke up a little earlier on Monday to take her time making herself presentable. She considered a dress, but then thought that might be too forward; instead she opted for her favorite jeans and a nice blouse. Up or down with the hair? She tried it out a million different ways before settling on her standard hairstyle. She didn't want to make it seem like a big deal or anything. She had kinda half-hoped he might call on Sunday, but then she'd reminded herself that she'd told him she was busy, and Brick seemed like the type of guy who'd listen to what you said and respect that. If he respected you, of course.

Her family was still wary at breakfast—Buttercup greeted her as “Frankenblossom”—but she assured them they had nothing to worry about. She didn't feel the need to tell them just yet. Besides, she wanted the Professor to calm down before revealing to him that she was dating again.

Dating Brick. Just thinking it made her giddy and she couldn't fight back her blush. They weren't practicing this morning, and she only had two classes with him today—Physics and Environmental Science. They didn't sit at the same table in the first, but were pretty near to each other in the second. Her heart thrilled at the thought of him showing up at the studio, before classes started, just to see her.

_Maybe,_ she thought, allowing herself that small hope as she got changed and went into the studio. If he showed up to surprise her she wanted to be doing something lovely, something pretty. She put on something slow and proceeded to dance likewise—fluid, graceful. And then she'd turn, and he'd be at the door, stupefied by her beauty, and she'd look surprised and blush and say Oh my gosh, Brick, I didn't even realize—

Maybe he'd start dancing with her. Maybe they'd just sit and talk, or he'd offer to take her out for a quick coffee before classes started. Or maybe he'd just kiss her.

She glanced frequently at the door, wondering, wondering, and when the bell rang and Brick had not shown up once she could not help but feel disappointed. Dance, then, was spent making excuses for him in her head while she led the class through warm-ups. Her favorite was that he actually had made the attempt to come see her, but had been so overwhelmed by a sudden shyness about what had transpired Saturday evening that he couldn't bring himself to actually do it. Okay, that was a bit out of character, but it was Blossom's favorite, nonetheless.

She bolted to Physics, opting to linger outside to keep an eye out for him and... well, maybe walk in together, or something. The class began to fill, the minutes ticked by, and still Brick did not show up. Blossom paced, her gaze darting ever to the clock, and finally went inside alone five seconds before the bell rang. Brick was still not there.

Thirty seconds after she had taken her seat he walked in. She straightened in her chair, her chest going light.

“Tardy, Brick,” the teacher said flatly.

“Sorry, sir,” he muttered, and took his seat. He didn't even glance her way. Blossom sat back, confused.

She came up with more excuses for him as class went on, though these were feebler. Her confidence was shaken a bit. Had she imagined things? He'd seemed... receptive Saturday night. Was he just embarrassed?

_It_ is _a school day,_ she told herself. They had things to concentrate on, classes to go to. Of course.

_But... he could've just spared a glance, or something_. Again she thought he might just be shy, but that was seeming less and less likely the more she thought about it...

Then she remembered how he had stuffed his hands in his pockets after she'd gotten the call, how he'd looked away from her, his face flushed and his voice soft, stumbling over words and stammering. So unlike his usual stoic self. Her heart swelled at the memory. She wasn't giving him enough credit. Every boy got shy in the face of a girl he genuinely liked, right?

She tried something different in EnviroSci; they were a row and one seat apart. Instead of waiting for him this time she walked right in and took her seat, her eyes on the door. Again, Brick was the last to walk in, though he made it before class officially started.

He had to pass by her to get to his seat, and she smiled at him and quipped, “Beat the bell this time, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, and took his seat without another word. The smile dropped off her face, and she swallowed as she faced forward, embarrassed.

No excuses this time. There was something wrong. Why else would he be acting so strangely? The thought flew into her head: what if their benefactor had changed his mind? What if he wanted the boys to leave now? This weekend? This night, even?

_You're being irrational_ , she thought. She had no evidence. She hadn't even talked to him yet...

They had the late lunch together. The second the bell rang he was on his feet; she had to make an effort to catch up to him. What on Earth was the _matter_?

“Brick!” she cried, sounding too desperate. She grasped his sleeve and tugged, and he stopped.

She colored when he turned to her, his expression detached. “Yes, Blossom?”

A lump knotted in her throat. There was no warmth in that tone; it was nothing like the gravelly voice with which he'd spoken to her on Saturday, all flirty and playful and suggesting things Blossom would never admit secretly thrilled her.

“I... I think we should talk,” she said, feeling very much like a little girl and regretting that she hadn't worn the dress. “About... you know, Saturday, and what we...” She waved her hands about, searching for the right word.

“Are,” she finally said, her shoulders slumping a little.

Brick—still looking neutral, almost uncaring—looked around, then indicated an exit. “Let's go outside. To the roof, maybe.”

“Okay.”

He did not take her hand. He did not smile. He did not even look at her. All Brick did was turn away from her and start for the exit. He didn't even wait for her to catch up.

***

Brick had meant to talk to her before this. Each time, though—before school, before both their classes—he'd hesitated. Not because he was a coward; that had nothing to do with it, absolutely nothing. He just couldn't. That was all.

It took an enormous amount of willpower to keep his expression blank. He was so nervous. He couldn't believe it; after all the shit he'd been through rejecting a girl should've been a fucking piece of cake.

His hands felt numb as he pushed open the doors, and he shook them out as he floated to the top of the school. He landed with his back to her, waiting until he heard the soft _tap_ of her shoes against the concrete before taking a deep breath to steel his nerves.

One breath wasn't enough. He was still nervous as fuck. He inhaled again, and then, once more.

“Brick,” Blossom said, her voice confused but level, and how did she manage that? “What's wrong?”

He felt her hand at his wrist, and before he could stop her she touched him. He drew his hand away and instantly wished he hadn't. Fuck, why had he kissed her? He could practically see her now, stunned, like a wounded animal.

“Look, Blossom,” he started, and everything he'd thought of saying to her up to this point vanished from his mind. He couldn't recall any of it. All that remained was _I can't, I can't_.

“I... Saturday, it just got...” He thought of turning to her and realized that if he couldn't do this with his back to her, how would looking right at her make it any easier? “It got kind of... heavy, for both of us, I think. And I don't know if that's... if that's something that's right, right now.”

He waited for a response, then, when he heard nothing, he added weakly, “You know?”

Silence. He wondered if she was still there. Just as he was about to turn around and check, he heard her say, quietly and coolly, “No. I don't—I don't know what you're saying.”

“I'm saying,” he started, and he didn't know either. He closed his eyes. “I want—”

_No, stop_ , his brain said. _That's not it. You can't share what you want with her_.

He swallowed and tried again, blinking like mad. “I think Saturday night was misleading. I don't think... I don't think we should... go from that.”

Another pause. Finally, Blossom said, “I still—I still don't know what you mean.”

He cringed. Fuck, what did she want him to say?

_Just say it_. _Tell her you can't. You've got these goals, and it just wouldn't work, no matter how much you want—_

No. He couldn't say that.

“I just want to go back to the way things were before Saturday,” he said in one hasty exhale.

All these silences in between were agonizing. Brick swallowed, waiting for her to say something and wondering if he should.

“You mean,” she said, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. “You mean... like it didn't happen?” A disbelieving laugh broke the last word; it sounded bitter, hurt.

_That's not what I mean_ , he thought, but he knew that was exactly what he'd said. In reality, he needed things to go back to how they were before he'd ever come back, before he'd ever even laid eyes on her again. She was distracting him, she was messing up everything—

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I just can't do something like... like a relationship, right now. I mean, it's just... you know, we're only seventeen, and right now, there's just no room for something like this... in my life. I just don't think we're ready for this, right now,” he said, trying to make that sound final, conclusive. He turned his eyes downward and stared at the cracks in the concrete.

“I'm sorry,” he added, and he meant it. He meant it with every fiber of his being.

She still said nothing. He wondered if she was angry, or sad, and his curiosity overwhelmed him and he finally turned to face her.

It was the latter. But there were no tears. She only looked at him, those wide eyes of hers drooping a little, as if she'd just woken up. When he turned to face her she blinked, then cast her eyes downward, at their feet. After a pause, he did the same.

“Okay,” she said, and God, that voice of resignation made him regret everything. She nodded, then looked up, a thin smile on her face. “Okay. You're right. It's... you're right.” She took a deep breath and exhaled, forcing a little laugh. “We've got a lot going on, so... yeah.”

The false brightness of her expression was too much to bear. Brick looked guiltily off to the side.

She clapped her hands together, once, then rubbed them. “So, um, I've got—I better go eat lunch, the period's half-over.”

“Yeah,” he croaked, feeling miserable.

“I'll see you,” she said, backing away.

“Yeah,” he said again. He looked up as she turned away, his stoic expression failing him now that her back was turned to him. She floated to the edge, and he winced and said, “Blossom?”

She froze for a moment, then angled her head, just enough to look back. He'd composed himself again by then.

“Yes?”

“I... you know, for what it's worth, Saturday... I had a really good time. A great time, even. With you.”

He knew that he might regret this a million times over later, but all he wanted at that moment was for Blossom to not look like that, to not try and look so okay when it was so clearly the exact opposite.

She held still for a long moment, staring past him.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

And then she disappeared off the edge of the roof. He heard her touch down on the concrete below.

He took a deep breath and hated himself for the way he shuddered as he did so. It was weak and it was stupid and it was all thanks to those fucking teenage hormones, they kept fucking everything up, everything with him and with her and with his future...

He flew off the other side and down to the school parking lot where he landed next to his car. As soon as he was seated and had his keys halfway to the ignition he stopped, realizing he needed to be home, he needed to be home _right now_ , and so he got out and picked up his car and just flew. He forced himself to set his Coil down in the garage carefully, trying to keep himself from throwing it—damaging it would only be another thing to hate himself for later—and then he was dashing up the stairs, through the door of their apartment, and into the training room that he hadn't touched in months. He punched blindly at the console, shedding top layers of clothing in the process, and locked himself inside. He needed fighting, a distraction, something, anything, _anything_ to keep him from thinking about it, about what he'd said to her and how horrible it had felt to glimpse that look on her face as she'd tried to smile and say it was Okay when even _he_ knew, even _he_ felt it was anything but.

***

Blossom sat on the curb for awhile, grinding the soles of her shoes against the gravel. Then, because it occurred to her that somebody might see and ask what she was doing there, she got up and went to the cafeteria. She ran into Buttercup and lied about going out for lunch; she wasn't hungry. Her sister shrugged it off, but gradually grew suspicious.

“Hey, you're not nearly as... 'up' as you were this morning,” Buttercup said, eyeing her. Blossom shrugged.

Her next class went by in a sort of blur, though she made an effort to concentrate. It was easier than she expected to not think about what had happened on the roof, and she buried herself in her notes and her textbook. After that there was dance practice with the Company; Homecoming was next month and they had to practice their routine for the game.

She felt okay. Yeah. It had stung, of course—quite a bit, really—but from a rational standpoint, Brick had a point. They _were_ only teenagers. Wasn't this why she had avoided dating for so long? Because of the immaturity of those surrounding her? Perhaps there was a bit of irony in having encountered someone who—while maybe not _quite_ mature, but at least above average compared to other boys—wasn't interested in getting into a relationship for the very reason that because of their age, they couldn't be mature about it.

By all accounts, Brick had made the right decision. They were too young, really. Really.

Blossom started the girls warming up. It felt good to sink into the routine. She was so used to this by now that even her commands were automatic and she could allow her mind to wander as they went through their stretches. In retrospect, though, maybe allowing her mind to wander wasn't the best thing.

Inevitably, her mind went to the conversation on the roof. She had, in all honesty, been pretty... disappointed. Brick had not touched her. In fact, he'd barely looked at her. He'd even pulled away from her when she'd only tried to touch his wrist, and that had been quite a blow, to see him recoil from her like that. Like she was some sort of disease.

_Stop that_ , she scolded herself. _Don't exaggerate_. Though Brick could've handled that better. Did he have to pull away? He hadn't had a problem with holding her hand on Saturday night—but wait, they were supposed to pretend that hadn't happened. She went numb at the thought, then shook her head, tried to rationalize it. Saturday evening was a loss of control, of discretion. Brick was right. It was better to pretend that it hadn't... that they hadn't...

Her heart gave a sudden lurch, and her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and repeated, louder, “Switch sides and hold.”

The girls did so. Blossom swallowed, but the lump in her throat didn't move. It made her think of Brick's neck as she'd stared at it in the coffeeshop, in the club, how he'd let her skim her hands across it as she drew herself up and—

She inhaled sharply, almost a gasp. A few of the girls looked at her. She blinked furiously and announced, “Okay, up girls, and bend, nose to your knees.”

As they all complied she pushed her hair back, trying not to think about it. _Don't think about it_.

So then, of course, the only thing to do was exactly that.

Saturday, all in a flood—talking to him for hours, watching him consider the coffeeshop pastries, sitting in his car and the way he had twisted to back the car out, her ribbon, the dancing, the holding, the kiss—

Burning behind her eyes, then, and she stood, turned to Mel, and said, “I'm sorry, Mel, please take over.”

The Senior Lieutenant blinked and said, “Sure. Is everything—”

“I just need some air,” Blossom said, already on her way to the door and losing feeling in her legs, no, all over. “I just don't feel very well. I'll be back.”

It was better outside. It was easier, less stifling, and she paused to take a deep breath of it and closed her eyes. She could almost feel his lips on hers; the memory was that vivid and sharp in her mind, and her eyes flew open and she gasped again. Her vision was swimming, and she stumbled around the corner. The main building was on one side and the athletics building on the other, with a small, canopied walkway connecting them, and it was here that she stopped, her hands skimming the rough concrete wall and yet numb to the sensation of the building against her skin.

She pulled up the old t-shirt she wore over her dance clothes to dab at her eyes and sniffed, trying to take deep breaths to calm down. Her breaths hitched as she inhaled, and it felt good to do that, so then she thought maybe crying would make it better after all, and that did it.

Blossom collapsed against the side of the building as her tears spilled over, dripping on the concrete, her knees, her arms; she didn't bother to wipe them away. She tried to be quiet about it in case somebody came—God, she hoped nobody would come—and clamped her mouth shut so her sobs wouldn't be so loud. When she hiccuped, then, there was only a small, subdued squeak.

_God, this is so pathetic_ , she thought, trying to make it funny, but that just made it worse.

She pressed herself against the wall in her crouching position, trying to bury herself in it as she sucked in her breaths through her teeth and sniffled and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears spill out anyway. He could've at least touched her, or hugged her! How could he ask her to pretend it hadn't happened? How could he ask her that? Why had he kissed her? Why had he taken her to the club, or walked with her at the museum? Why had he let her into his car? They used to hate each other, and now he was telling her they couldn't be together because they were too young and irresponsible, but they were more responsible than anybody, they were more mature, so why couldn't they be responsible and mature together?

The happiness that had overcome her when he'd kissed her in that horrible city was still crystal clear in her memory. How could she forget something like that? How could he ask her to just forget a moment in her life that was one of the happiest she'd ever experienced?

_I thought_ , she started, and then tried to stop, but it finished itself. _I thought he liked me_.

She held her t-shirt over her face and tried to get her breathing to even out a little. She would manage a few breaths and then relapse, so it took awhile. Eventually, though, she was breathing pretty normally, with only a hiccup here and there, and she rose to her feet, her legs shaking a bit. She took one last, deep, calming breath, and rubbed her soaked t-shirt over her face, trying to dry her eyes as best she could. She was still sniffling a little—she couldn't go to practice like this. She couldn't let anyone see her when she was so volatile.

_I'll call it a day and go home_ , she thought.

She heard a door open, and she hastily turned to round the corner back to the studio entrance.

“Blossom?”

Buttercup's voice was confused, and Blossom halted, clearing her throat as she turned just enough to glimpse her sister staring at her from the canopy, on her way to the athletics building.

She held up a hand and grinned. “Hey, Buttercup.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Air. Just getting some air.” An uncontrollable sniffle punctuated the statement; Blossom wasn't wracked with crying anymore, but she still wasn't a hundred percent.

To Blossom's dismay Buttercup caught it. Now her face was concerned as she stepped forward. “Why are—your eyes are red, I mean, redder than usual... and what the hell's up with your shirt?”

“Language,” Blossom said, then added, “Um, allergies. And I had a bad run-in with a water fountain.” She sniffed and took a deep breath.

Those sharp green eyes scrutinized her. Buttercup's brow was knitted with what passed for worry on her.

Finally Blossom looked away and said, “Um, hey, I'm going home. I'm not feeling so great.”

“Yeah, okay,” Buttercup said, nodding. “That sounds like a good idea.”

Blossom smiled and waved as she turned. “Bye, Buttercup.”

“Bye.” After a pause, Buttercup added, “Blossom, feel better.”

“Oh, I'm fine,” Blossom chirped, not looking back.

_I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm fine._

***

Blossom's appetite was not much improved by dinner, but she took a few token bites and pushed her food around a bit before asking to be excused.

“Quite a bit of homework,” she explained to her family.

On her way up the stairs she heard Buttercup say, “She barely ate.”

Blossom shut herself in their room and sat at her desk. Honestly, she had nothing to do. Since she'd come home early she had blasted through all her homework already. The only thing left was to read more of _Agnes Grey_ for English. As she tugged it out, she suddenly remembered—the extra credit. She'd gone out on Saturday and Sunday and had completely forgotten about it. It was due tomorrow.

She powered on the computer she and her sisters shared and reluctantly thought back to Saturday. What had she thought she might do her piece on? She remembered the shadow sculpture and the couch.

She bit her lip and typed up her heading. The poems. What had the poems been?

“Um,” she said aloud, and her voice cracked. She didn't want to do this again, but she felt it coming on anyway.

_No. Focus_. This was just an assignment, an extra credit assignment, and in order to do it she had to remember the poems. This was separate from him. Brick had nothing to do with this.

_since feeling is first—_

_may i touch said he—_

Blossom covered her face with her hands. She clambered out of her chair and sat on her bed, her shoulders shaking and her hands wet with tears as she prayed that this bout of crying would finish before either of her sisters made it up here.

***

Bubbles hummed as she floated up the stairs while Buttercup helped the Professor clean up after dinner. She had to change for tonight's date...

She swung the door to their bedroom open and froze. Blossom was sitting on her bed hugging her pillow to her face to muffle the noise—the only way Bubbles could tell she was crying was from the telltale hitching of her shoulders.

“Blossom?!”

At the sound of her sister's voice Blossom tensed, but her crying didn't stop. Bubbles dashed to her side, pulling the pillow away so she could comfort her properly.

“Blossom, what's wrong?” she asked, smoothing her sister's hair back and wiping away some of her tears. Blossom squeezed her eyes shut and tried to cover her face with her hands, stifling a sob.

“Shh, it's okay, Blossom, please, tell me what's wrong...”

Blossom couldn't take a breath without hiccuping or sniffling, but after a few tries she finally managed, “S-S-Saturday... I saw Brick...”

Bubbles' eyes widened as she stroked her sister's hair. “Uh-huh?”

Blossom swiped at her eyes. “And we... and we went out...”

Bubbles felt a sudden, tense anger build up in her. “And then?”

Her sister buried her face in her arms and sobbed.

“Blossom, Blossom, shh,” Bubbles soothed.

“We just...” Blossom sniffled; Bubbles had to lean close to make out the words. “We had such a good time... I thought...” She started to clutch at the bed, feeling around for the pillow, and Bubbles pushed it aside and pulled Blossom into her arms instead, rubbing her back and shushing her.

“It's okay,” she repeated again and again as a fresh wave of sobs wracked her sister's body. She had never seen Blossom like this before; she was usually so composed, so above her emotions. What had happened?

“Holy—Blossom?!”

Blossom looked up, horrified, and Bubbles turned to see a frantic Buttercup in the doorway, already moving towards them.

“What's going on?! Why are—you were crying earlier today too, weren't you? What's the matter?”

Bubbles spoke up. “Something happened with—”

“No, no, it's nothing,” Blossom sniffed, batting at Bubbles to stop. She was inhaling deeply, trying to calm her breathing down. “I'm just really hormonal right now, that's all—”

“Bullshit! What's wrong?”

Bubbles looked up at Buttercup, but Blossom clenched her arm and when she turned back to her their leader's eyes beseeched her, begging her not to say anything.

“It's okay,” Blossom told Buttercup, hiccuping and swallowing. “I-I'm okay—”

“Are you kidding me? I found you crying at school, you barely ate a thing at dinner—I'll bet you didn't eat lunch, either; you told me you went out—”

“Girls?” The Professor's voice rang out downstairs, and all the girls winced. “What's going on up there?”

Blossom leaned forward and shouted, her voice cracking, “Nothing, Professor!”

She said it too loudly, which immediately announced to their father that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“I'm coming up,” he said, and Buttercup leaped up and slammed the door. “ _Girls_!”

“No, no, no, don't let him come in,” Blossom hissed to Bubbles, tearing up again.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong or not?!” Buttercup cried.

“Buttercup, _please_ ,” Bubbles said. “She's upset, can't you please just give her—can you leave us alone, please?”

Buttercup gaped at her sisters, looking like she'd been punched in the gut. “ _What_?!”

Bubbles just shook her head and turned back to Blossom to soothe her.

“I'm her fucking sister, too! Why don't—you guys never want to tell me anything! You—I asked you earlier today, Blossom, and you lied to me, and you're doing it now, too—”

“Buttercup,” Bubbles said sternly, “she didn't lie to you—”

“ _Stop covering for her_!” Buttercup shouted, and the Professor pounded on the door.

“What's going on in there?!”

Buttercup was taut with anger. “You guys are always doing this! You never want to tell me anything, you always keep me out of the loop, you always gang up on me and—”

“Nobody's ganging up on you!” Bubbles cried. “We're just asking for a moment—”

“ _Fine_!” Buttercup exploded, and shot out the door in an angry streak of green, past a stunned Professor.

“Buttercup! Girls, what the—what on Earth is going _on_?!”

***

Boomer was just about on his way out the door when he got a phone call.

“Hey, Bubbles,” he greeted, smiling. “What's up?” As he listened, his smile faded. “Really?”

Butch looked up from the couch where he had settled in for a night of television. The door to the training room opened, and a soaked Brick emerged and quietly shut the door.

“Dude,” Butch said, “ _you've_ been busy.”

Brick grunted in response.

Boomer knit his brow and said, “So you wanna take a rain check on tonight? ...Okay. Is she okay?”

Both of his brothers looked up at him.

“Who?” Butch said sharply. “Is who okay?”

Brick stared at Boomer, wide-eyed, one hand still on the doorknob.

“Alright, yeah. I'll talk to you later. Bye.” Suddenly he blushed, then, in a much more subdued voice, “Me too.”

Butch bolted upright as Boomer shut his phone. “Is something wrong? What happened? Who were you two talking about?”

Boomer shook his head. “She didn't go into detail, but—”

He was interrupted by pounding at the front door, and Buttercup's voice screamed, “Butch! It's me!”

He exchanged glances with both of his brothers, then shot to the door and flung it open. Buttercup stormed inside, her shoulders stiff with anger.

“I can't stand those two! _Ugh_! I swear to God, I can't fucking stand them!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the shit?” Butch cried, watching her stalk back and forth in their living room. “What's wrong?”

“Fucking Bubbles and Blossom!” Buttercup snapped. “It's like I'm not even part of this God damn family! You know?! I see Blossom crying at school—”

Brick suddenly hated himself, more than anything.

“And then she _lies_ to me about it, she barely eats anything at dinner, and when I go upstairs she's in our room bawling to Bubbles, and both of them immediately shut up when I come in and nobody wants to tell me what the fuck is going on!” Buttercup stopped in front of a bewildered Butch and, without looking at him, shouted, “I'm their fucking sister too! They're always doing shit like this, they've always done it! Ever since we were kids they'd always talk to each other about this stuff, they'd always leave me out, they'd only ever share secrets with each other, and you know, fine, whatever, you can do whatever you want, but when something's wrong, really wrong?! To the point where Blossom— _Blossom—_ is in tears about it?! And they don't wanna _tell me_?! Like I wouldn't care?! Like I wouldn't _get it_?! That's bullshit! Fine! Fuck them! If they don't wanna treat me like I'm part of this family, then _fine_! I'll stop _giving a shit_!”

“Jesus Christ, Buttercup, calm down,” Butch said, and her head snapped to, livid.

“ _Don't give me that shit_! I'm pissed off and I'll calm down when I'm _ready_ to calm the fuck down!”

“Okay, okay, fine, be fucking angry.” Butch raised his hands in surrender. A strange look entered his eyes, and before she could turn away he snatched her arm and said, “Hey, come on.”

She halted, blinking at him. “What?”

“Just come on,” he said. “You can keep screaming if you want, but just come on.”

Both his brothers watched as Butch led Buttercup out of the apartment, slamming the door behind them. Boomer turned to Brick.

“Geez, what the hell do you think is going on over at the girls' place tonight?” he wondered.

Brick's gaze was far away. He didn't respond.

Boomer frowned and stepped a little closer. “Brick?”

Brick looked at Boomer as if he'd just now realized the blond was there.

“Everything okay?”

Brick inhaled and held his breath for a second before sighing, “Yeah.” He turned and started for his bedroom. “Yeah.”

***

Buttercup looked around, a little confused. Butch had taken her to an asteroid belt, not unlike the one she and her sisters— _If I can call them sisters_ , Buttercup thought bitterly to herself—had retreated to all those years ago, before the city had wanted and loved them.

Now they were landing on one, the rocky surface of the asteroid crunching under their feet, and Butch finally—she'd almost forgotten—let go. She hesitated, then rubbed the spot where his hand had clutched her arm.

He turned to face her, his gaze still looking strange, almost distracted. “You still pissed off?”

She blinked at him, then muttered, “Of course I'm pissed off.”

“Why?”

She huffed. “Because... they don't fucking tell me anything, they don't treat me like—”

“Bullshit,” he said.  
  


“Wh-what?”

“Bullshit that's your problem,” he snapped, his face vicious and unkind. “Your problem is you're a worthless piece of shit.”

Buttercup gaped at him before screaming, “ _What_?!”

“You heard me,” he growled. “You wanna know why you're so pissed off? You're pissed off because you don't like your sisters calling you out on what a useless little bitch you are!”

Buttercup sputtered for an indignant moment before recovering her voice and shouting, “ _Fuck you_!” She turned and stalked away.

Butch was close behind. “You got some nerve, coming and crying to me—”

“I'm _not_ crying!” she snapped.

“And whining about how unfair it is, how mean they are to you—”

“Shut up!”

“Like a little pussy, that's what you are, you think you're all tough but you're still just a little fucking girl who goes crying to her friends—”

She whirled on him and screamed, “Why the _fuck_ did you bring me here?!”

“Some fighter you are,” Butch spat, disgusted. “Your sisters didn't make you feel like a worthless little bitch, you just are—”

Before she could think twice about it Buttercup drew her fist back and punched him in the jaw, and then, before he could recover, she charged into him, sending debris sailing into space as the two of them hit the ground, snarling.

***

Bubbles had thwarted the Professor by claiming Blossom's moodiness was due to girl troubles of the monthly variety. He had still been intent on getting to the root of it, but Bubbles had insisted, and eventually he'd retreated back downstairs.

Curled up next to her on Blossom's bed was her heartsick sister, the last of her sniffles subsiding. When finally alone, she'd literally cried on Bubbles' shoulder, her endless tears soaking the cotton of her shirt. Bubbles stroked her sister's hair, mulling over everything Blossom had told her.

“I see his point, but I don't much like it.”

Blossom sniffled.

Bubbles took a deep breath and sighed. “I should've made you come home for dinner.”

“We were having such a nice time,” Blossom mumbled.

“You did. It sounds like it.”

“I can't believe he wants to forget it all happened.”

“He's a boy,” Bubbles said sagely. “Boys are stupid.”

“This one's smart.”

“No boys are smart when it comes to girls.”

Blossom sighed. “I don't know how I can look at him without wanting to burst into tears.”

“So stay home for a day or two.”

Even through her swollen, teary eyes, Blossom glared at her sister. “I'm _not_ missing school.”

“Then just don't look at him.” At the look of uncertainty on Blossom's face, Bubbles added, “Though, yes, it'll probably be hard not to. He's pretty, after all.”

Blossom squeezed closer, and Bubbles gave her a reassuring hug. “Why doesn't he like me?” Blossom mumbled, her tone childlike, plaintive.

Bubbles thought about it, about saying, _It's not that he doesn't like you, it's just that he doesn't want to let himself like you_ , but decided against it. How would saying that out loud to a heartbroken Blossom make anything better?

Instead she kissed her sister on the forehead and whispered, “To Hell with him. _I_ like you.”

***

Buttercup panted for breath, her muscles aching and joints sore. Butch was draped on top of her, his elbows shaking as he propped himself up; he, too, was panting. Her fist opened against his stomach, skimming along the tense muscle before gliding over that chest of his, rising and falling in an incessant, almost calming pattern of movement.

She bumped her forehead against his shoulder as she pressed her cheek to his sweaty neck and whispered, “Thanks. I needed that.”

One of his hands _thump_ ed clumsily against her head, and she laughed. “I was ready for that, too,” he breathed, and she rolled him off of her, an awkward laugh breaking her heavy breathing.

He gulped some air before saying, “I grabbed your hair pretty hard, did it—”

“I didn't lose any,” she said, patting the side of her head. Her scalp was sore from where he'd yanked her hair, but even in the heat of the moment he hadn't torn anything out. She remembered something and sat up, despite the protests of her muscles, and started feeling around. “Ah. Here.”

She turned, offering two of his teeth to him in her upturned palm. He sat up, then took them and spit on them to clean off the dirt before setting them carefully back in place.

“Sockets didn't close up yet, did they?” she asked.

“Nope, still fresh,” he said once he'd taken his hand back out of his mouth. He ground his teeth a little, wincing as he evened out his loose teeth.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“Naw, it's nothing. Good as new in a minute.” He brushed his hand along the bruise on his jaw. “Got me good, there.”

She sniffed and rubbed the back of her hand along her face, pausing to study the blood she'd smeared from her split, swollen lip. “You didn't do too bad yourself.”

“Your arm okay?”

She rolled her shoulders, wincing a little. “Still there.”

“It made a pretty gross sound when I—”

“It's still there,” she repeated. She nodded at his knee. “That?”

He glanced down.  
  


“Your knee looks like fucking Octomom's stomach.”

“Looked a lot more like it a minute ago,” he said. “Can't move it much right now.”

“I think I shattered it,” she said guiltily.

“Yeah, well.” He grimaced. “Ugh, weird. I can feel the bones moving back into place.”

“Fucked up!”

“Yeah, and all the little muscles and tendons, or what the hell ever they are...” He sucked in a breath, sweat breaking on his forehead. “Chemical X isn't doing shit for the pain right now.”

“Probably not, if it's having to reconstruct a knee.” She placed one hand on his shoulder and another on his chest. “Come on, lie down.”

“Oh, Buttercup, I know you wanna get busy, but wait till my knee's fixed up—”

“Fuck you, Pencildick,” she sniped, but she was grinning as she forced his back to the surface of the asteroid. After a moment's contemplation, she crawled over behind his head so she could lie on her stomach and stare at his face upside down. “Still hurt?”

“Barely feel it,” he sneered, but then winced and hissed a breath. If Buttercup listened, she could hear a faint grinding noise coming from his busted knee.

She reached for both of his arms and clasped his forearms; he clenched back. “Something to hold onto,” she explained, not needing to.

“Couldn't you just let me grab your tits instead?”

“Fuck off, or you'll have to wait for _two_ knee repairs,” she warned.

Butch laughed, and she smiled. A stretch of silence passed, during which Buttercup watched his own smile fade. A few times he grimaced and clenched her arms, his good leg scraping against the ground as his other went about the tedious process of self-repair.

“You... feelin' better?” he finally asked.

She chewed her lip—gently, since the swelling hadn't completely gone down yet—and finally nodded. “Hitting something did just the trick.”

He laughed again. “Didn't just hit something, you cut up my jaw and fucked up my knee. You were hardcore pissed off.”

“You worked me up pretty good.”

“Good,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “Good?”

“Yeah. I told you, I needed that.”

A small, slow smile worked its way onto his face. She watched it form, almost mesmerized at the gradualness with which it appeared.

His eyes flicked to her chest, and he said in a sing-songy voice, “I can see your bra.”

Buttercup found she couldn't bring herself to care about it. “Your fault, ripping up my clothes.”

“You ripped mine up, too,” he whined.

“Don't see your bra showing.”

“I like to let it all hang out there, you know.”

She started laughing. “Right.” She paused. He was still staring. “ _Butch_.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “My bad.” He swallowed as she glared at him. After a long pause, he said, “Black?”

She blinked, then realized what he was referring to. “Dark blue.”

“Really?”

“Why the surprise?”

“Don't strike me as a blue kinda gal.”

“What, then?”

“Maybe polka dot.”

“Fuck you.”

“Right,” he said dimly, staring past her into the vastness of space. She shifted a bit to get more comfortable, and the ends of her hair dangled in his face, tickling his skin. He tried to blow it away. She laughed.

One of his hands squeezed her arm—first gently, then a little harder. “Your hair's too fucking long,” he said, his voice thick.

She snickered and swished it in his face; he made spitting noises.

“Seriously, you should cut it.”

“Been meaning to,” she said, the smile on her face almost apologetic.

“You look better with short hair.” He was still staring past her; she could see the stars reflected in those deep green eyes. “You should get it cut.” After a moment, he added, “Makes it harder for me to grab if we happen to do this again.”

“So you're giving me a handicap in the next fight, is that it?” She nodded at his knee. The swelling was already going down, and he was clenching less. “If anything, _you_ oughtta get the handicap. Wasn't my knee that got all fucked up tonight.”

“Mmm. This weekend. Let's go.”

“Go where?”

“To get a haircut.”

“You, too?”

“Why not?”

She sighed and looked up, taking in the endless empty blackness of outer space, marred by the glittering of an uncountable number of stars. Butch's hands shifted against her forearm, not clenching anymore, just touching.

She thought back to Blossom in tears, clutching at Bubbles as if she were her only lifeline. It had looked familiar. It had even felt familiar. Her brow furrowed.

“Sure,” she said, her hand tracing a light circle on Butch's elbow.

***

Blossom was lying in bed, unable to sleep and curled towards the wall when she heard Buttercup finally come home. She watched her sister's shadow glide along the wall, pausing over Blossom. Nearby, Bubbles' heavy breathing was faint and regular, lost in sleep.

Blossom shifted and did not look up. Buttercup stood there a long moment, studying her.

“Three days,” she said, her voice soft, and Blossom's eyes widened, just a little. How did Buttercup...?

“But that's all you're getting from me,” Buttercup added, and then moved to get ready for bed. Blossom curled into herself a little, unsure whether to respond or not. Instead she just laid there, long after Buttercup had succumbed to sleep herself. Her sisters' deep, regular breathing was an odd comfort in the dark stillness of their room, and she didn't feel quite so much like bursting into tears as she listened to them inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

_I'm better than this_ , she thought, tracing shapes into the wall with her eyes. _I'm better. I'm stronger. I have to be_.

This was such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things. This was so insignificant. Of course, it didn't feel that way now, but she was young and it was her first real rejection, so it was only natural for her to react in such an emotional manner. She could dwell on it, or move on. The smart choice was, obviously...

She had to stop pining over Brick. And that was the truth: she _was_ pining. It was impossible to deny something that had become so obvious—Saturday was all the evidence anyone would need to show just how “into him” she'd been.

_But now I have to move on_ , she thought, a little dismally. But of course she'd be dismal about it. Who wouldn't be?

In any case, he could not see her like this. He couldn't know how much his rejection had affected her. Then he'd just pity her, and Blossom... Blossom was _not_ someone to be pitied.

_I'm better than that_ , she thought again, jaw set and face hard. _I'm stronger_.

A part of her clung to that memory, that precious moment of sheer happiness when Brick's lips had met hers, and she felt tears well up in her eyes again. She squeezed them shut and took a deep breath.

_I have to be_.

Sleep never came to claim her, but daylight was bright and early, as always, and by the time her sisters awoke Blossom was already dressed and on her way out the door.

***

Brick sat in English, irritated with himself for letting his nerves get to him. She hadn't looked at him once in Statistics—that had been their second class today—though, granted, they sat on opposite ends of the room. But previously—and it had gotten to this point without either of them realizing it—something they'd always been able to count on was the weight of each other's gaze when one of them wasn't looking.

Well, Blossom had refused today to even acknowledge Brick's furtive gaze, period. He'd had to remind himself that was the way it should be, and really, he'd only been staring because...

_She doesn't look like she's been crying_ , he'd thought to himself. Maybe her eyes had looked a little puffier, as if she hadn't slept much, but she didn't seem... he hesitated to say heartbroken, but wasn't sure what to say in its place.

Maybe he'd misunderstood. Maybe she'd been upset about something else. Or maybe she was just over it already.

The thought filled him simultaneously with frustration and disappointment. Plus a sort of resignation. He'd basically asked her to get over it, hadn't he?

In Art, Bubbles had not talked to him once or cast an eye in his direction. Well, that had kinda killed his theory that Blossom might be upset about something else. Bubbles had canceled a date with Boomer because Blossom had been upset, and now even the cheerful blonde was ignoring him. Funny, how class had been quieter, and yet Brick had found it vastly more difficult to attempt work. Especially with English looming...

He fidgeted in his chair as the students filtered in. He checked to make sure his stuff wasn't situated too near to her seat, then flipped through all his things to keep his eyes from going to the door. He didn't want it to look like he was just waiting for her to show up.

He recognized her footsteps and was angered by how tense he got, how quickly the color rose to his face. He didn't dare look up and rifled blindly through his things as she slid around him and took her seat.

He stared at a handout he'd received in Econ. “Hey.”

“Hello,” she responded, her voice painfully neutral.

Then that was it. Brick stared at his handout for a while longer before setting it down. He finally chanced a look at her; she had opened _Agnes Grey_ and appeared devoutly focused on reading. Even up close she didn't look like she'd been crying. Maybe tired, at most. He thought of asking her how she'd slept, then decided against it.

“How... are you?” he finally said.

“Fine.”

Her eyes were glued to the page. Brick looked away, a part of him bothered by her response, or lack of it. He wanted to say something else to her, but he couldn't think of a fucking thing.

  
He looked back at her. “Really?” he asked, his voice coming out softer than he'd intended.

“Yes,” she said. Again, not looking up.

Brick's eyes drifted back to his section of the table just as the bell rang.

“Alright, class,” Mrs. Yang announced. “Who's got extra credit for me?”

Brick's eyes widened. He'd forgotten! In the midst of all that had happened since Saturday, he'd totally—

“Blossom?” Mrs. Yang asked, when the girl didn't rise with the other few students, and Blossom looked up.

“I didn't do the extra credit, Mrs. Yang,” she explained, her voice a little tight.

“I—you didn't?”

“Some things came up,” Blossom said.

Mrs. Yang stared, then looked down at her desk and made a note. “First time for everything,” she muttered. She looked up again. “Brick? What about you? Did you go to the E. E. Cummings exhibit?”

Brick thought back to when Blossom had first appeared in the museum, glowing in the soft daylight. He suddenly missed that image, missed that afternoon, that entire day, with a childish longing that nearly made him sick to his stomach.

“Brick?” Mrs. Yang asked again, and he looked up. Even now the memory of that day was fading, faster than he wanted it to, and even if it _was_ for the better he tried to cling to it, wishing he could etch it into his memory in permanent ink.

“No,” he said, the words feeling heavy in his throat. She was sitting right next to him and did not so much as glance at him. “I didn't do the extra credit, either.”

***

Three days, Buttercup had said, and Bubbles had probably said it, too—after all, she'd originated it in this family. Blossom was remarkably undemanding, save for a couple of things.

First, every day Blossom came home from practice, set down her stuff at the coffee table, and said, “Girls. Homework.”

A grudging Buttercup and Bubbles would take their places at the coffee table and suffer through their assignments. Blossom made sure they were working, too, rather than just staring at the table.

Second, she asked Buttercup to make a new French dessert for each of those three days. After dinner Blossom would help herself to two servings and eat it at the table in silence, unless the Professor asked her questions. Her responses were limited, and after she retreated to their room he would exchange looks with Bubbles and Buttercup as if to say, “What's _wrong_?”

Blossom wasn't talking much at all; she'd only speak when spoken to. Bubbles was brave enough to chance a question one night:

“How's the show with Brick coming along?”

Buttercup looked up from where she was struggling to finish her homework on her bed, amazed that Bubbles was trying to instigate conversation.

Bubbles added, “Have you guys been practicing?”

“No,” Blossom said, and that was that.

It didn't occur to Buttercup until later that there might have been something significant about Bubbles asking in the first place.

***

Boomer attempted a little softshoe around the apartment as he got ready for his Friday night date with Bubbles. He managed alright, but...

“Hey, Brick,” he said, an anticipatory grin on his face. “Show me how you do this.”

Brick was at the dinner table, staring at his homework. “I'm busy.”

“You've been stuck on that page for the past twenty minutes and haven't written a thing. The shit you're busy. Humor me a second.”

Brick sighed the sigh of one most heavily burdened. “Don't feel like it.”

Butch called from his room, “Boomer! There's a really fucking scary horror movie out! Take your girl to that and she'll be crawling all over you!”

“What's it about?” Boomer asked, grooving his way into his jacket.

“Ghosts in a couple's house at night. Do it. Me and Buttercup and the boys are checking it out tonight. Supposed to be scary as shit.”

“I don't think Bubbles will go for that.”

“Fuck, do you always let that chick decide everything for you two? Don't you ever get to do what you want?”

“I just want to spend time with her,” Boomer said, and there was the slightest of huffs from the kitchen table. Boomer looked at Brick just as Butch emerged from his room.

“Whatever you say, homo,” Butch said, shrugging.

“You're a dick.”

Butch turned, sneering as he opened the front door. “The biggest there is! Peace, brothers. See you later.”

The door slammed, and Brick said, “Butch has a point.”

“Huh?”

“You let that girl get to you. You listen to her too much, you drop everything you're doing if she so much as utters a word, and honestly? You're spending way too much time with her.”

Brick sounded serious, and Boomer reacted the way he usually did to his brother's lectures: with lighthearted humor. “Well, she _is_ my future bride-to-be—”

“No, she isn't,” Brick said sharply.

“Got a house picked out and everything—”

“Boomer _—_ ”

“Names picked out for the kids—”

“ _Cut that out_!” Brick bellowed, jumping to his feet. Boomer halted, his smile fading at his brother's outburst.

Brick was glaring at him; Boomer couldn't tell if his eyes were glowing or not. Tension worked its way up and down Boomer's nerves.

“Break up with her.”

Boomer stared at his leader, stunned. “What?”

A humorless Brick repeated deliberately, “Break up with her.”

Boomer blinked a couple of times, forced a bewildered laugh, then turned away and scoffed, “Fuck you.”

Brick was suddenly at Boomer's elbow, and he whipped his brother around to face him. “ _I'm not playing, Boomer_.”

Boomer made a half-hearted attempt to jerk his elbow away. “Neither am I,” he muttered, not looking Brick in the eye.

“You want to do it that way? Fine. I'm _ordering_ you—”

“We're not on the job; you can't order me to do a fucking thing,” Boomer spat, and wrenched his arm away.

“You don't do it now, then I'm going to make it a lot harder when we _are_ on the job,” Brick snarled. Boomer said nothing and zipped up his jacket, even though it was still warm enough not to. “And don't think that just because you're my brother I'm going to make it easy—”

“Fuck you,” Boomer muttered again. “Fuck you, you fucking—fuck you.”

“Boomer, ever since you've gotten together with her you've acted like a leashed dog. You follow her around everywhere, you don't do anything unless she's there, your whole life now centers around her—”

“Jealous, Brick?” Boomer snapped, and Brick's arm tensed.

“Who told you to quit the band?” Brick said viciously.

Boomer turned away.

“If you know what's good for you, Boomer—”

“Don't fucking threaten me,” Boomer warned, wrenching the front door open.

“You'll dump her ass—”

“Shut up!”

“ _Boomer_ —”

“ _I love her_!” Boomer shouted, and Brick flared.

“ _No, you don't, jackass_! You don't even know what the _fuck_ that is—”

“Go fuck yourself, Brick,” Boomer snapped, and slammed the door. Brick almost went after him, ready to beat some God damn sense into him, because fuck, what did Boomer know? What did he know about anything? He didn't get that this was all his stupid teenage emotions getting in the way of rational thought, that he was blinded by affection for her, and she had no idea, she wasn't looking at him, she wasn't talking to him, no matter if she was only doing exactly what Brick had suggested they do—

Brick stopped, his hands flying to his temples. “Stop,” he hissed aloud; he was talking about Boomer, he was thinking about Boomer. Boomer was being an idiot. Boomer had let himself be trapped. And by who? A fucking _Powerpuff Girl_ , a fucking enemy, or at least former enemy, someone on the wrong side, someone who threatened everything Brick needed to accomplish in his life with her stupid voice and her stupid legs and all her stupid fucking brains and talent—

“ _Stop_ ,” he said again, squeezing his eyes shut, but that only made her image sharper in his mind, and he could almost feel her arms encircling him, almost feel her lips on his, a ghost of a memory that he was never going to rid himself of no matter how much he wanted to or how much he tried.

***

The doorbell buzzed, and Bubbles looked up from the vanity. Boomer was early...

She dashed down before the Professor could emerge from the lab—she had just finished getting ready—and opened the door.

“Hey,” she started, surprised. “You're ahead of—”

Boomer took her face in his hands and kissed her, hard. She suppressed a gasp, then, after a second, patted his arm.

As he pulled away, she blinked and whispered, “What—what's wrong?”

Boomer's face was conflicted; he looked as if he were somewhere between going on a rampage or maybe bursting into tears. His gaze was fixated on their feet, and he gulped, still touching her face and stroking her cheek.

“I love you,” he breathed, still unable to look her in the eye, and her heart stilled. She heard shuffling coming from the lab; the Professor was moving up the stairs, and she maneuvered them outside and shut the front door behind her as they took off.

They flew aimlessly—they'd talked about going to see a movie tonight, but it didn't seem like Boomer was in the mood—until finally Bubbles touched down at the docks, deserted on Friday evenings, with Boomer's hand in hers.

“Bold of you, to kiss me like that with my dad there,” she said, smiling at him.

Boomer stared at their clasped hands. “Yeah.”

After a long moment she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and drew up close to him. “Hey.” She ruffled his hair, and finally he looked up at her. “Is everything okay?”

“I mean that,” he blurted, swallowing again.

She smiled. “I know.”

“I really... I love—”

She pecked him on the corner of his mouth. “I know.”

His arms went around her waist and he pulled her close. “He... he wants me to break up with you.”

She snorted as she hugged him back. “Brick doesn't strike me as the sensitive type.”

“He doesn't get it,” Boomer whispered, his grip tightening.

“Something tells me Brick's not going to get a lot of things,” Bubbles said cheerfully. _Like a girlfriend_.

“He was saying... saying that I let you rule my life, that I'm too... too into you, or something...”

She could hear the franticness in his voice, how he was struggling for words, trying to make sense of it by saying it out loud. She kissed his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

Boomer barreled on, unable to stop. “He just... he doesn't understand. He doesn't know. He doesn't know how... how I feel when I'm with you, how you make everything else just not... matter.”

The faint smile that had appeared on her face—an attempt at lightheartedness, at diffusing his almost panicked state—faded. Boomer clung to her, and all she could do was hold him and listen.

“Brick keeps—he has plans, and great, so he's got plans, for him and me and Butch, and I... I just, I always go along with him, because he's my brother and the leader and it's not like I've got anywhere I want to go or anything I want to do, so I might as well, right?” His hands drifted down her back, clenched around her even tighter. “But this... I want this. I want you. You're like... you're the only thing I've ever wanted, and I mean, _really_ wanted, in a way that makes me...” He took a shuddering inhale and shook his head. She waited, her heart numb at this, at hearing all of this...

“That makes me not care about anything else,” he said, and her breath left her; she wanted to kiss him, she wanted to hold him and kiss him forever. “And he should let me have it! Because it's the only thing that makes me feel... I mean... you know, Brick's the boss, and he's got the brains, and Butch is the psycho, or whatever you want to call it, and he's got the muscle, but I've got nothing. I've never had anything. I'm just the fucking runt, the clown, I don't do anything, they don't need me for anything...”

“Shh,” she whispered, petting his hair. “Boomer, don't—”

“No, it's true,” he said heatedly. “I've never had anything that was really mine. I mean, even my... even my music thing...” He trailed off, his grip on her loosening.

“Boomer?” she said, her voice quiet.

He pulled away from her, his eyes downcast. He shook his head again, stepping back. “And that's something even you won't let me have, just because I made a deal with Him for it, and it's like, you don't think I can take care of myself or make my own decisions—”

“Boomer, no!”

“And it's just like Brick! Neither of you want me to do things on my own—”

“That's not it—”

“You don't trust me, you guys don't think I can handle Him, or a girlfriend—”

He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the ground, his expression growing more upset by the second, and Bubbles grabbed his face and tilted it towards hers, pressing their foreheads together.

“Stop,” she said. “Stop, for a second. Okay?”

Boomer swallowed, then sighed, closing his eyes and reaching a hand up to grasp one of her wrists. As Bubbles pulled him in for a tight hug, she mulled over everything he'd just said, trying to dissect it, analyze it. She hadn't realized how much of a little boy Boomer was, how much he bought into this idea that he was the dumb one who couldn't do anything, to the point where he assumed everyone thought that of him and resented them for it. It made her sad, that he felt that. She kissed him, her mouth soft, trying to offer him some form of comfort.

Boomer pulled away again. “I,” he started, then looked her in the eye. “I think... I think I should tell you something.”

***

“Auuuugh!” Buttercup stood outside of the theater and flapped her hands as she shook out her nerves. “Holy shit! Holy shit, that was freaky.”

“Yeah, fuck driving home alone,” Mitch said with a shudder. “Harry, come on. I'll give you a ride home. Fuck, I'll even sleep over at your place tonight.”

“Like hell you will,” Harry said in mock disgust.

“You guys don't wanna do anything else?” Butch asked.

“Well, I don't know about you, but _I_ sure as hell don't want to be getting home at two AM or nothing tonight,” Buttercup said. “My sleep's going to be fucked up enough as it is.”

Mitch lifted an eyebrow. “More so than when you saw _The Grudge_?”

“Oh, fuck that movie!” Buttercup cried, laughing. “That was _cruel_! Putting that bitch in the bed?! Bed's supposed to be one place you're safe!”

Mitch laughed and said to Butch, “She kept me up on the phone for weeks after we saw that—she refused to fall asleep without talking to someone—”

Buttercup kicked Mitch in the shin. “Mitch! Go to hell!”

“Oh my God, that reminds me of the best Halloween costume ever,” Lloyd said.

“The year we did _The Ring_? Holy crap, yes!” The rest of the group, sans Butch, broke into laughter.

“What was so funny about that?” he asked.

Buttercup swept her hair into her face and said, “Back then I had long hair, so I just, you know, draped it so it covered my face. Dressed up like the ghost chick, and the guys got all made up like they were my victims. Then we just trekked all over Townsville and stood in elevators, waiting for people to get on.” She cackled as the rest of the guys laughed. “Ugh, it was awesome! People were freaking the fuck out! The doors would open, and they'd see the guys lying on the ground all blue and dead with those crazy fucked up expressions, and I'd just be standing there in the middle of it all—we got kicked out of so many hotels that night.”

“I think we're permanently banned from a few of them,” Floyd said.

Butch gave a good-natured laugh. “Sorry I missed that.”

“We gotta think up something good for this year,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together.

The group voiced their assent, and after recounting some of their less successful Halloween exploits they went their separate ways. Butch and Buttercup lingered, waving as the guys split for their respective cars.

Butch looked at Buttercup. “You going to Robin's party tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we live right next door. She's, like, one of our best friends, besides. You?”

“Yeah. I mean, probably.”

“I guess I'll see you there, then,” she said, and held up a hand. “See you.”

As she turned and took a few steps before preparing to take off, Butch said, “You don't want an escort home?”

“Huh?”

He sneered at her. “Make sure the ghosties don't get you?”

“Oh, fuck you!” She laughed, beginning to hover. Butch did likewise and started to trail after her.

“I mean, just to be safe!” he called.

“Like I'm any safer with you!”

But she didn't tell him to go home, all the same.

***

Bubbles paced, feeling Boomer's eyes on her. He sat on the edge of the docks, his legs dangling over the water, and didn't seem to like the distressed look on her face. He turned his eyes back to his knees.

She took a deep breath and finally said, “What... what kind of... 'jobs' do you do?”

He looked at her, his mouth compressed into a thin line, and she closed her eyes and covered her face. “No. Don't tell me. Don't. I don't want to know, actually.” He'd told her everything except that. Well, she assumed everything. She couldn't know for sure. But Boomer had seemed so sincere. Besides, why would he make something like this up?

“You—you're not going to break up with me, are you?” he asked, and she looked up to see him twisting towards her, his face mirroring the panic she'd heard in his voice.

She bit her lip and sighed, then sat next to him. As she leaned her head on his shoulder and reached for his hands, she whispered, “No.” He sighed in relief, and she brushed her hand along his, again and again.

She cleared her throat, then asked, “But... are you guys... done? Do you have to go back and do... more?”

Boomer hesitated, squeezing her hand before answering. “I... I have to help Brick out with something.”

“When?”

“Like... in four years.”

She sat up in shock. “'Four years?' That long?”

He nodded. She blinked at him before slumping again, not leaning on him this time.

“He's my brother,” Boomer said. “I... I need to help him.”

“What does he—no, wait, never mind.” She buried her head in her arms. “I don't want to hear it.”

She could feel Boomer tensing beside her. “But after that I'm done. Forever. I'll come back here.”

She lifted her head just enough to rest her chin on her arms. “Four years is a long time, Boomer.”

“I know it sounds long, but... but I'll come back,” he finished lamely. Then, in a stronger voice, “I swear.”

The conviction in his voice touched her, and she glanced at him. At the look she gave him his steely expression crumpled. “Please don't fall in love with someone else when I'm gone.”

She couldn't help it; she gave a little laugh.

“I mean it!” he cried, pleading.

“Just...” she whispered, laying a hand on his. “Just don't... don't do anything bad. Anything else bad. While you're here.” She leaned in a little. “I want to see you be a good person. I need to know you can be.”

He nodded fervently, resolutely. “I can. Anything.”

She gave him a small kiss. Then she leaned on his shoulder, staring off into the sky. Four years. They'd barely been together a couple of months. She didn't know him, not really. They didn't know each other.

He turned his face into her hair. “Promise me you won't fall in love with someone else, Bubbles?”

_I don't know_ , she thought to herself, trying to be realistic. _I don't know what I can promise_.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispered. “I love you.”

That was true, though. In this moment, here, she loved him back, despite everything he'd told her. That made it a little easier.

“I won't,” she said, and it wasn't a lie. “I promise.”

He sighed against her in relief, and she wove an arm around his waist.

“Hey,” she said, and he pulled back to look at her. “Next month. Boomer... will you go to Homecoming with me?”

He blinked at her, dazed, then broke into a delirious, happy smile.

***

Blossom stared out of their bedroom window and heaved a sigh. That Saturday morning, Robin had chalked a message on their driveway, huge and easily readable from a mile above. It singled Blossom out.

_REMEMBER! PARTY STARTS AT SEVEN! DON'T BE LATE, BLOSSOM!!!!_

“She is such a dork,” Bubbles said, giggling as she drifted by the window.

Blossom looked at her. “You almost done?”

Bubbles fluffed her hair. “Blow-dried and dressed and just about ready to go! Going to drop by Boomer's first.”

“Why doesn't he just meet you over...” Blossom trailed off. Bubbles had snatched a pair of haircutting shears from the vanity.

“I want to go give Boomer a trim before the party—”

A bolt of pink zipped to Bubbles' side and grabbed at the back pocket she had stuffed the shears into.

“I can't let you do that,” Blossom said, her expression grave.

“Huh?”

“Has Boomer _seen_ what happens when you get a pair of scissors in your hands?” Blossom had no ties to Boomer, but on a moral level she could not allow him to be dealt the cruel fate that she had faced at her sisters' hands.

“Oh, Blossom, that was years ago!”

“Do you cut your own hair, Bubbles?”

“Of course not, I can't see the back.” Bubbles tried to wave her away. “Now let off, he's waiting—”

“I cannot stand by while such a heinous deed is about to be committed,” Blossom said.

“Ugh, fine.” Bubbles grasped her wrist. “ _You_ come with me, then, and do it yourself.”

“Wait—what? What? That wasn't what I meant!” Blossom cried, but by then Bubbles had already thrown open one of the windows and catapulted the both of them into the air.

***

“Um.” Boomer blinked at a less-than-thrilled Blossom as Bubbles tied a towel around his neck. “Why the change in plans?”

“You want a haircut, not a butchering, right?” Blossom asked, and Bubbles pouted at her.

“I just want a trim,” he clarified, leaning into Bubbles' hand as it drifted across his cheek. They were situated in the dining area of the boys' apartment, having pushed the table and chairs off to the side. Blossom had looked uncomfortable at first, but she'd squared her shoulders and refused to let the setting get to her. She was the mature one, after all.

“Brick already left, you said?” Bubbles asked him, her eyes on her sister. Blossom started to examine his hair.

“Went for a drive not long ago,” Boomer said. The scissors began to snip around his head. “Um... do you cut hair often, Blossom?”

“I cut the Professor's occasionally, but that's it.”

“She cut Buttercup's hair, once,” Bubbles added. “She's handy with the scissors.”

Suddenly a key turned in the lock, and the three of them looked over to see Brick entering the apartment. Bubbles winced, her gaze darting to Blossom. Blossom shot down the panic that rose in her throat and kept her expression stoic.

“Brick!” Boomer said, surprised. “Back already?”

“I forgot—” Brick looked up, his eyes catching on Blossom. “Something.” After a second, he cleared his throat and said, “Um, what are you guys doing here?”

“Giving Boomer a haircut,” Blossom said stiffly, before either of the blonds could respond. She resumed snipping. “Don't trust Bubbles with scissors, which led to me getting manhandled into doing it.”

“I didn't manhandle you!”

“Brick,” Boomer said, a little roughly. He made sure Brick saw him reaching for Bubbles' hand; she let him grasp her. “Haven't you been talking about getting a haircut, too?”

Bubbles kicked him, and he looked at her in shock. “Ow!”

“Careful,” Blossom reprimanded. “Jerk around like that and you're going to wind up with a lot more hair missing.”

“He's been talking about getting his hair cut!”

“Not the time, _Boomer_ ,” Bubbles hissed through gritted teeth.

“If you want a haircut, Brick, give me a minute and I'll be done with Boomer's.”

Bubbles gaped at Blossom. Brick swallowed, unnerved by the forced neutrality of her tone.

“Do you want one or not? I'm already over here with scissors, anyway.”

_Forced contact might be good_ , he thought. He might get over this quicker, then.

Within five minutes Boomer was dusting the loose clippings from his hair while Brick settled in the chair. Blossom shook out the towel and tied it around his neck rather mechanically; he expected to feel the tingle of her hands brushing along his neck but no such luck. She then pushed the cap off his head, into his lap. He stared at it as she wet her hand in a bowl of water and combed it through his hair. His chest lurched at the contact despite her brusque movements, and he clenched his fists underneath the towel.

“How short do you want it?” she asked.

“Short,” he said. “Short.”

Bubbles leaned against the wall, cocking her head to study him. Boomer had retreated to his room to change. “Close to the head would be good, Blossom.”

“Alright, then,” Blossom said, and snipped off the hair gathered at the nape of Brick's neck. “Say bye to your mullet, Brick.”

“Wh—I did not have a mullet!” Brick snapped, his discomfort forgotten.

Blossom grunted as she shook his hair out and began cutting.

Brick scowled for a while, irritated by the snide remark. Eventually, though, it faded, and he was only aware of her hands, drifting around his head, skirting the nape of his neck and his scalp as she snipped away.

Within minutes Bubbles was smiling. “Looking good.”

“I'm a pro,” Blossom said quietly, then came around to the front. “Just gotta do your bangs.”

And then she was there staring right at him, and he tensed, trying not to stare back. She may as well not have been looking at him, though. Her eyes seemed to barely skim the crown of his head; hell, she almost seemed to be looking past him. At first he'd averted his eyes, but, after getting the dim sensation that he wasn't really being looked at anyway, his gaze gradually slid back up. Her expression was flat, unchanging. She merely gathered up what remained of his too-long hair, closed the shears on the strands, then went about evening them out.

“There.” She lifted his cap, blew some loose hair off of it, and thumped it back on his head. Brick stared at the orange clippings on the floor, then angled his head to watch as she... left.

“See you guys at the party,” she said, and the sound of the door slamming almost stung. After a moment, a numb Brick tugged the towel off. Bubbles was sweeping up the floor.

“Are you going, Brick?” she asked, and he wadded up the towel into a ball.

“I...” In truth, he hadn't been planning on it. Well, in truth truth, he _had_ been planning on it, but then last Saturday and... yeah.

But she wasn't being hugely emotional about it. She seemed to have taken it okay, even if she was being a little cold. It was better than tears and screaming. Maybe he could just talk to her. Tonight. Maybe.

“Yeah,” he said, standing up and scratching his neck. “Yeah, I'm going.”

***

“She cut your _hair_?!” Butch grabbed Boomer and shook him. “ _Why didn't you call me_?!”

Boomer tossed his brother off, and a few of the other partygoers dodged him as they made their way up Robin's walkway. “I didn't know she was going to cut my hair! Besides, what the hell, you were out already getting your own haircut!”

“Which does look sharp, if I may say so,” Buttercup volunteered.

“I like yours too, Buttercup,” Bubbles said, playing with the shortened black strands. Buttercup made a noise and swatted her away.

Butch looked on the verge of tears. Buttercup patted him on the shoulder. “Oh, Butch. It's not like Blossom would've willingly touched you anyway.”

Butch moaned. Bubbles peered at a grocery bag he had with him. “What's that for?”

He snapped to and shielded it from the rest of them. “'S a surprise.”

Buttercup's gaze hardened. “This is a friend's house. If you're going to try anything—”

“It's not going to fuck up Robin's house, I swear. It's not targeted at her.”

“'Targeted?'” Before Buttercup could press the issue, she spotted Brick approaching. “Hey! You got your hair cut, too?”

“Yeah, Blossom did his, too,” Bubbles said.

Butch's jaw dropped as Brick passed them and grunted.

“I hate my brothers,” Butch whined. “I hate you both so very, very much.”

***

Brick ran into Julie and Mike, and made small talk with them in the kitchen while he kept his eyes peeled for Blossom. He didn't want to actively go looking for her just yet. It was a party. Nobody was in a hurry.

“Brick, have you heard about the photos yet?” Julie asked, jarring his attention.

“Huh?”

“For Modern Girl.”

“Oh... no,” he said, grabbing a can of soda and popping it open.

“I'll bet that was something,” Mike said. “I heard from Bubbles that they had these ridiculous costumes—”

Julie groaned. “Oh, Lord, don't remind me.”

“They were terrible,” Brick agreed, his eyes suddenly drawn to the flash of orange-red hair in the dining room.

“Oh, Brick, I didn't even notice you got a haircut!” Julie pointed at the nape of his neck. “Usually you keep your hair pulled back. Take off your cap and let us see?”

Brick merely shifted his cap back on his head.

She rolled her eyes. “Brick.”

“I took my cap off, I just did it at a speed too fast for normal human beings to see,” he said, eyes wandering to the dining room. Red bow. It _was_ Blossom.

Julie turned her attention to Mike. “So,” she said playfully, nodding in the direction of the dining room. “Care to explain why Robin is wearing your letter jacket?”

“She was cold,” Mike said.

“Right. How long has—”

“Excuse me,” Brick said, and moved for the dining room. Blossom and Robin had just disappeared around the corner. He reached the doorway and lingered, watching them climb the steps to the second story, and, once they were out of sight, he trailed after them. Robin had led Blossom to a second living area upstairs, where Butch, Buttercup, and the rest of their friends plus a few others were gathered in a circle, laughing.

As Brick reached the second story landing Robin dashed by him to what looked like her bedroom. Blossom was resting against the banister, but when she saw Brick she instantly took off after Robin and shut the door.

Brick stared, speechless.

***

The smile on Buttercup's face dissolved as she watched Brick turn and trudge back down the stairs. Mike bounded in past him and joined the group, sitting cross-legged next to Mitch and the twins. “Are you kidding me?!” he laughed, pointing at the empty bottle in the center. “Spin the Bottle? What are you guys, like, twelve?!”

“It's not Spin the Bottle, it's Truth or Dare,” Bubbles clarified from the corner, where she and Boomer were lounging on the couch, chatting with some friends from Choir.

“Oh, so you guys are, what, thirteen instead of twelve tonight,” Mike amended, snickering.

“Miiiiiike,” Boomer jeered. “Why is Robin wearing your letter jacket?”

The room _Ooh_ ed and whistled in response.

Mike bit his lip to suppress his grin. “Because she's coooooold.”

“Riiiiiiiiight.” Mitch rolled his eyes. “You in or what?”

Mike dove for a bowl of popcorn. “What're the rules?”

Buttercup chimed in. “No stripping, no Frenching, no groping, no—”

“Well, the hell with this,” Mike said, and made as if to go.

“That's what I said!” Butch exclaimed.

“Let's get Robin back in here and he'll stay,” Kim said.

“And no flashing,” Buttercup finished. “That's it.”

“Okay, well, come on.” Mike settled in. “Whose spin is it?”

“Bobby, go,” Kim said, moving from the couch to sit next to her boyfriend in the circle. Bobby spun the bottle, where it eventually stopped on Butch to scattered applause and catcalls.

Butch spread his arms wide open. “Dare. Bring it on, fucker.”

“Kiss the hottest person in the room.”

“Oh, please, that is so unoriginal!” Harry groaned, and a number of other folks voiced their assent.

“Damn!” Butch looked distraught. “Blossom was just here!”

“I thought there wasn't any kissing!” Mary cried.

“No Frenching,” Bobby corrected.

“Double damn,” Butch said.

“Just so you know, I don't want you choosing me, Butch,” Boomer announced. “I mean, I am pretty hot and all, but that's just sick.”

Buttercup raised her hand. “Excuse me. I would pay good money to see that happen.”

“I'm in Buttercup's camp on this one,” Kim added, raising her hand as well.

“Me too,” another girl said.

“Same,” said another voice.

“I'm very susceptible to peer pressure,” Mary said, raising her hand.

“Count me in,” Bubbles said, and at the horrified look Boomer gave her she shrugged. “Why not?”

“I'd rather kiss Brick than you,” Butch sniped at Boomer.

“Holy crap, I'd pay _twice_ as much to see that happen!” Buttercup shouted, raising both hands, and the rest of the girls whooped and hollered.

“Brick!” Bubbles screamed. “Where are you? Get up here!”

“No no no, fuck you all!” Butch cried, standing up. “I'm gonna choose now!”

“If Brick gets in here you're kissing him!” Buttercup ordered.

“Shut up, I'm choosing!” Butch announced, and the room went quiet as he scanned it. His gaze swept from one end of the room to the other, lingering on Harry, and as soon as the room started cheering he laughed and shook his head.

“You wish,” he said, and skipped over Buttercup to the other corner. He swept his eyes back around the room a couple of times, drawing the room's ire.

“Dude! _Pick already_!”

“If you can't pick the hottest, pick the _least ugly_ one.”

“That's impossible,” he sneered, his gaze skipping once more over Buttercup. Then it came back, shifting between her and Harry, and Buttercup felt the smile on her face start to fade.

_He's not serious_ , she thought to herself, starting to panic. _He's not—_

“Hey, what are you guys up to?” Julie appeared in the doorway, and everyone, Butch included, turned to look at her. “It got all quiet in here!”

Butch clasped his hands and made praying motions to Heaven. “Saved!” he sang, and Buttercup exhaled.

Butch stepped over to Julie and pointed at the can in her hands. “Whatcha drinking?”

She glanced from him to the soda. “Oh, just—”

He then grasped her by the chin and tilted her face up for a kiss. Julie's eyes went wide and her shoulders stiffened; Buttercup didn't realize until Butch let go just how tense her own shoulders were.

Butch licked his lips thoughtfully. “Cherry soda.” He winked at Julie as he sat down, and as Buttercup stared furtively at him it seemed to her that he was avoiding meeting her eyes.

Julie blinked, still a little shocked. “Okay, I guess I just walked in on the Kiss Random People Game?”

“Truth or Dare,” Bubbles corrected.

Julie laughed. “Seriously? Are we all in middle school or something?”

“Thank you,” Mike said.

“My turn!” Butch spun the bottle with a flourish, and the room watched until it finally landed pointed squarely at Buttercup. She covered her face and groaned as the rest of the room clapped again.

“Finally!” Butch cried, grabbing at his grocery bag. “I've been waiting for this moment all night!”

“God, of all the people for you to land on,” Buttercup moaned.

“Truth or Dare, Buttercup?” Mitch asked.

“Dare,” she responded.

“Alright!” Butch chortled, beside himself. “Buttercup, you paying attention?!” He dropped a full bag of cherries in her lap.

She stared at it, horror welling up in her gaze as she turned her eyes on him. “No way.”

He adopted a smug, cocky grin. “Do it.”

“No. No way. Oh my God, you're shitting me.”

“Wait, what? What's the dare?” somebody asked.

“Buttercup,” Butch said, “I dare you to tie a knot in every one of those cherry stems with your tongue.”

She glared at him while the rest of the room murmured amongst themselves.

“Butch, is that why you had the cherries?” Bubbles asked. “You got lucky. What were the odds of you daring Buttercup to do that tonight?”

“That's going to take forever,” Mike said. “That's like five pounds of—”

“I'll bet you she can do that whole bag in five minutes or less,” Butch interjected. “Somebody time her.”

“Butch, you fucker,” she said, shaking her head.

“Less talking, more knotting,” he said. “You told me you could do it! Now I wanna see it!”

“Buttercup, is he serious?” Bubbles looked up. “Can you really do that?”

Harry handed her the empty popcorn bowl. “Here. Spit the stems out in this so we can see.”

“You guys, you all just suck,” Buttercup groaned, ripping into the bag.

“Buttercup, if you can do this, I will be in awe of you forever,” Kim said.

“Time her!” Butch crowed. “Somebody!”

Mitch undid his watch and held it up. “Okay, ready?”

With a heavy sigh, Buttercup grabbed a handful of cherries.

“Go!”

The room cheered as she worked the first one, and went into surprised cries of glee after she spit it out perfectly tied in five seconds with the cherry still attached.

“Holy shit, you're kidding me!”

“Unreal!”

She burned through the first handful, then another, then another, and the cheering increased each time she spat a tied stem into the bowl. Halfway through the bag, though, the cheers faded off. The room continued to watch in silence, slack-jawed, as Buttercup worked her way through the rest of the rapidly diminishing bag.

“Dude,” Harry said in wide-eyed awe, watching the pile of tied stems multiply.

“If I had a bunk I would so be in it right now,” Mike whispered.

Butch stared, his smile long gone and his gaze fixated on the movement of Buttercup's jaw as she tied stem after stem. Soon enough she was down to the last cherry—or two cherries, with their stems still connected to each other. She examined them, then popped them into her mouth. Within a few seconds she reached her hand to her lips, extracting the final two cherries from her mouth, and placed them on top of the pile, where everyone could see she had tied a knot in each stem while they were still connected.

She rubbed the back of her hand against her mouth, looked around the room, then fixed her eyes on Mitch and asked, “Time?”

Mitch glanced down. “Four minutes and fifty-five seconds,” he murmured.

“I guess you win that bet, Butch. Now, excuse me.” Buttercup grunted as she rose to her feet. “Before I take my turn I'm going to grab something to drink.”

The room watched in reverential awe as she left the room.

Julie broke the silence. “That girl needs to teach a class or something.”

Bobby latched onto Kim. “ _Please_ take that class. _Please_.”

“I thought that was just a rumor,” Harry hissed to the twins. “I didn't think she seriously had a mutant tongue!”

“Okay, Butch?” Mike tapped his fist against his chest and pointed at him. “Respect. Mad, mad respect for you. Because, holy crap. I mean, holy crap.”

A few of the other guys voiced their hearty thanks to him. Butch, meanwhile, stared at the full bowl, the image of Buttercup's jaw, open wide and with her cheeks slightly sucked in, playing over and over again in his memory.

He suddenly felt a strong, strong craving for cherries.

***

Brick sat on the back porch, watching the gray dusk sky give way to the dark blue of night. He could hear them; most of the party was upstairs playing a party game. Truth or Dare, it sounded like. He nursed can after can of soda as he rocked on the porch swing.

He shouldn't have come. He could tell Blossom still hadn't emerged from Robin's room; her voice was nowhere to be heard in the upstairs chatter. It was dimmer, further away, as if she were whispering very quietly, but even with superhearing Brick couldn't make it out.

He lifted his cap and ran his hand through his hair. It felt nice short. Cooler. He almost wished she had taken more time with it, that she had let her hands linger on his scalp, touch him a little more than was necessary. But that was the wrong wish to have, obviously.

Why did he keep second guessing himself? This was stupid. Things were exactly as they should have been. Brick shouldn't have come to the party to talk to her, he should've just come to the party. He didn't need to go looking for her. There wasn't anything to resolve. He rolled his empty can in his hands, then crushed it and tossed it into a bin nearby.

“You know how many guys she's turned down?”

Brick jumped to his feet and whirled to find Buttercup standing in the doorway, her green eyes shimmering in the dim evening light.

“What?” he said, confused.

“I never really kept track of it. But it's gotta be in the double digits. More than twenty, probably. Can you imagine that? Turning down over twenty guys?” She stepped closer, her voice barely audible and almost threatening. “I mean, that's nuts.”

Brick only stared at her.

“You know,” she started, then stopped, and sighed. “Fuck it, whatever. I hope it's worth it, Brick. By the way, this is a dare.”

Before Brick could respond, Buttercup—blushing, he now realized, visible even in the darkness—took his face in her hands and planted her lips firmly against his.

Suddenly the light switch for the porch flicked on, and the people at the windows erupted into applause. Buttercup let go of him, swiping at her mouth and still red in the face.

“There, it's done,” she announced. “Can we fuck Truth or Dare, now? Get some video games going or something?”

Brick stared after her, stunned. The rest of the people who'd collected at the windows to watch filed back upstairs in her wake. Finally, Brick too went back inside, mulling over the kiss in his head. There had been something about it. Something important. He couldn't quite think of it but it was right there, within his grasp—

He shut the door to find Butch behind it, glowering at him. Brick glanced at him and frowned. “What?”

Butch just stared at him, fuming.

“What, Butch?” Brick sighed.

“You're a fucking dick,” Butch spat, shaking his head, and shoved past Brick as he went back upstairs.

***

After dropping by Robin's room to check in on her sister, Bubbles went back to the upstairs living room to find that Truth or Dare had been tossed aside in favor of Rock Band. Buttercup was belting out tunes with the No Neck Joe guys rounding out the rest of the band, and the room was singing along with her. Only Boomer was silent, perched on the edge of the couch and smiling thinly at the exuberant crowd.

When she sat next to him his smile broadened and he gave her a kiss. Then they held hands and watched while the room finished the song in various degrees of non-harmony.

“Go sing with them,” she said, and he blinked at her in shock.

“What?”

“Go on. It's okay. Go sing. Have fun.”

“You're... not worried about—”

“You can handle Him, Boomer,” Bubbles said. “And come on. If it makes you that miserable not to, then you should. If that makes sense.”

His smile illuminated the room, and he kissed her on the cheek before leaping up to snatch the microphone away. Bubbles drew her knees up to her chest and watched him, a possessive pride swelling in her as he started to sing. Even so, it was hard to keep the smile on her face.

One of these days, Him would come for Boomer. She was sure of it. So it didn't matter how much he sang or played. Boomer was already in danger. Any day now. It had been years since he'd first asked. Five? Six? It could be another five years. It could be tomorrow.

She watched Boomer sing his heart out and nail every note, his enthusiasm contagious, infecting the room. One of these days, Him would come, and He would try to take that away.

_Let Him come_ , Bubbles thought, her face hardening for a second, for one brief moment where she forgot to keep it inside, to herself. _He can bring it. Let Him try_.

She focused on Boomer's bright expression, on that happy smile, and summoned up a cheer. _Let Him come_ , she thought again. Her hands tensed, gripping the cushion of the couch. _He won't take Boomer from me. I won't let Him. I swear to God, I swear, if He lays a hand on Boomer, if He so much as touches a single hair on his head, I swear I will make Him regret it_.

***

_This was a mistake._

Brick claimed one last soda for the road and was just about to head for the door when a sudden cacophony of noise exploded downstairs, followed by a small train of people that entered the kitchen screeching AC/DC at the top of their lungs, Bubbles, Buttercup, and Boomer among them.

“ _You_!” Buttercup snatched a pan off the rack and aimed it at Brick. “ _Shook me aaaaallllll night long_!”

Boomer cut in, twirling Bubbles around. “ _You really took me when you—_ ”

The upstairs crowd jumped in with a collective “ _Whoo_!”

“ _Shook me aaaaallllll night long_!” the small group in the kitchen continued, Brick trapped amongst them.

_God, why do I let people talk me into going to these things_? he thought balefully, and then spotted Blossom floating down the stairs and opening the front door as she exchanged her goodbyes with Robin.

His eyes widened and he pushed forward, but Buttercup was still brandishing the pan in front of him, plus there were about five other people behind her and not enough room to fly over—

He steeled himself and muscled past them, bowling over a few other people in his desperate bid for the front door. Blossom had long since disappeared.

He flung it open, stumbled outside, and looked up and down the street. She was nowhere to be seen.

He heard a front door slam and looked to his left, spotting the Powerpuff Girls' home right next door. His exhale was heavy, defeated, and his shoulders slumped as the weight of his missed opportunity sank in.

Three long circles of light suddenly pooled in the street, and Brick's eye was drawn to one, where he could see Blossom's silhouette. Alone in the front yard, Brick stared at it, wondering for the first time that evening what he had wanted to say to her. Nothing. He could think of nothing, and yet, he had wanted to say... wanted to...

_Why bother_?

He stared at that oval of light, at that silhouette. Then he tore his eyes from it, trudged down the walkway, and pointed himself homeward. Soon enough he had ventured so far from the party that even with superhearing, no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't hear it at all.

_-end Ch. 9-_


	12. Tried to Stick A Dead Body Inside of Me, or I Think You Should Know You're His Favorite Worst Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: Immense thanks to my betas, Arrows and Red, who took up the editing arms and helped me drag this blasted chapter across the Finish Line; thanks always to mathkid and juxtaposie, who helped it to the Starting Line all those years ago.

**Title:** More Than Human  
 **Chapter** **10** **:** Tried to Stick A Dead Body Inside of Me, or I Think You Should Know You're His Favorite Worst Nightmare  
 **Pairing:** RrB/PpG  
 **Rating:** R/M, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.  
 **Disclaimer:** Pay your respect to Craig, not me.  
 **Summary:** There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. _Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus_  
 **Notes:** Immense thanks to my betas, Arrows and Red, who took up the editing arms and helped me drag this blasted chapter across the Finish Line; thanks always to mathkid and juxtaposie, who helped it to the Starting Line all those years ago.

**More Than Human, Pt. 2 – Senior Fall Semester  
** **October** **– Tried to Stick A Dead Body Inside of Me,** **or** **I Think You Should Know You're His Favorite Worst Nightmare**   
_-sbj-_

Brick didn't turn the lights on when he wandered into the apartment, nor when he entered his room. There was something oddly comforting about the dark, the way it swallowed him, made him invisible to the world. As a general rule, he liked feeling stealthy. Tonight, though, he just liked that he could make any face he wanted, and no one could see.

He sighed, and when he opened his eyes, the lights were on, and Blossom was standing right there in his room.

He jumped, backing into his closed door while she stared at his carpet. Her hair curtained around her face, half-masking her expression, but Brick could see enough of it to feel guilty.

He cleared his throat. “Blossom? What... what are you doing here?”

She looked up at him. His breath stopped.

“I came here,” she whispered—

“To talk,” he finished quietly.

She covered the distance between them in a few quick steps, her skirt riding up as she did so. He hadn't noticed; how could he not notice a skirt like that? God, it was _something_.

“I don't want to fight, Brick. I'm sick of fighting with you. I don't want to.”

Brick's back flattened against the door and Blossom's arms wrapped around him, that fabulous body of hers pressed to his, and he closed his eyes and touched her cheek.

_I don't want to fight you, either_.

She kissed his neck, a sweet, soft movement that sparked an aching want in his chest, and he angled her face to his and kissed her back.

He felt the pressure of her hips against his, and that was a dangerous place for them to be; he thought of pushing her away but then thought better of it, and then her knee was moving up his inner thigh and the next thing he knew they were on his bed, kissing and fumbling for each other with the lights on. She felt wonderful there, with her head against his pillows and her back on the mattress she had helped him pick out.

“Brick,” she whispered, and oh, that voice. Her trembling hands traversed the span of his chest, skimmed along the line of his torso, and hesitated at the hem of his jeans. He only felt it all; he hadn't opened his eyes since they'd kissed at the door but he could practically see it all anyway, clear and vivid in his mind.

“I don't know,” she was whispering, and still her hands wandered, touching him, tugging experimentally at the belt loops of his jeans.

“I'll be careful,” he murmured frantically, when really he was thinking _I don't know, either_ , and trying not to shake as he touched her, as he lifted her shirt just enough to let his hand dance against her bare stomach. He didn't even know where to start. He didn't know what to do.

He felt one of her hands leave his jeans, touch his hand, and gently guide it to her thigh. Her skirt had ridden up an unholy amount and he gasped as he touched her bare skin, trying to think as his hand inched up her leg, past the fabric of her skirt, to... to...

Her mouth was on his and at some point they'd shed both their tops (he couldn't remember doing that but didn't much care), and his hand left her thigh to draw down the strap of her bra. Her breasts were soft and she made a little noise when he touched that soft, soft skin, and he pressed down, his arms winding around her bare back, hugging her close, God, he'd never wanted anything this much, he'd never wanted or needed anything, anyone, _this much_ —

“Open your eyes, Brick,” she said quietly, and he pressed his lips to her shoulder and inhaled. She smelled wonderful.

“Open your eyes,” she said again, and he gasped for breath. Suddenly he was shaking, trembling all over, and he gritted his teeth and squeezed her closer and thought, _No, I can't, I can't_...

“Brick,” she whispered, and her hand touched his face, brushed against his hairline as her lips found his. “Open them.”

Slowly, slowly, Brick opened his eyes. It was pitch black. He couldn't see anything.

Something felt wrong. He felt heavy, slow. He stared at the darkness, trying to figure out where she'd gone. He couldn't feel her body against his anymore.

Brick forced himself up and rubbed at his eyes, suppressing a yawn as he looked blearily around his room. It was dark; he still couldn't quite see. A dull panic wrestled for purchase in him, but it had to fight through all his exhaustion and confusion as he stared at the dark and searched for her. Maybe she was in the bathroom.

“Blossom?” he tried, his voice cracking and heavy with sleep as he said it, and as soon as it left his mouth he felt stupid, like a needy five-year-old. He closed his mouth; it was thick and dry and felt gross. He'd kissed her with this mouth?

He looked back down at his bed, picturing her there against his sheets and feeling his insides coil. She wasn't here, and that dull panic was growing, expanding rapidly in his chest. He furrowed his brow and reached out his hand, brushing it against his mattress, and suddenly it hit him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasped, horrified as he stared wide-eyed at his empty bed and knowing in an instant that no, Blossom wasn't here. Blossom hadn't been here at all.

***

The bed creaked as Boomer swung his legs over and made for the corner of his room that housed his acoustic. The mere act of picking it up helped to slow his heartbeat. He sighed as he settled onto the floor and eased the guitar into his lap.

He'd had this dream before. A lot, even. Sometimes it started with him in the water, sometimes he just stood, watching it fill in around him until it crested over his head, fully submerging him. There was never any light, but that was okay. He didn't have trouble breathing, he didn't panic, he just stood there. It was fine. It _felt_ fine.

His hands trailed the strings, plucking idly at them. C. F#. His heart started racing again.

_I'll just..._

He had left his phone on the bed, so he set his guitar down and floated back, pawing through the sheets until it tumbled out, bouncing onto the carpet.

The phone rang, one, two, three, four rings, and right before it entered the fifth someone picked up.

“Boomer?”

At the sound of her sleep-heavy, bewildered voice, Boomer exhaled.

“Hey,” he said, her image in his head coming into focus.

“Are you—Boomer, it's, like, almost four in the morning—”

There was a commotion on the other end, a hissed, “ _Give me that_ ,” and then, “Boomer? What the fucking fuck?”

Buttercup.

“Language,” he heard a groggy Blossom reprimand.

“I swear to God, you better get some sleep, because when you get up I'm gonna go over there and kick your fucking ass for ruining mine,” Buttercup snarled, and then hung up.

Boomer lowered his phone and sat there for awhile, cradling it in his hands.

He'd had this dream before. A lot. Sometimes it started with him in the water and sometimes he just stood as it filled in around him. There was never any light and he was always alone.

But tonight.

He looked up.

Tonight he had looked up and seen a figure just beyond the glassy surface far above him, the image vague and features indiscernible. The infinite depths of the water had swallowed her name out of his mouth, and he'd woken up.

He looked and looked. All there was to see here, though, was the ceiling fan of his room.

***

Butch shot up in bed, eyes narrowed as he looked around. The shadows stayed where they were, though, and after a second, he flopped back down. Then he flopped to the left. Then to the right.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

“Rrrrrrrgh.” He sat up with a groan, then darted an accusing glare at his lower half.

“This is your fault,” he said. Then, after a moment, “Fuck you.”

_Do other guys have to deal with this shit?_ The last time he'd asked his brothers if they ever got midnight boners, Brick had left the room and Boomer had said, “Sometimes.”

“Do they wake you up?”

Boomer had wrinkled his face. “What? Is yours, like... making noise or something?”

No, it did not make noise. It was just annoyingly persistent. And usually Butch didn't mind taking care of it—he had a good fantasy or two in mind when it came to doing so, in fact. But between the party and the dream...

He sighed, pulling up his knees and thumping his forehead against them. In the dream he'd been sitting on a fence—

_I don't really wanna think about this right now._

He stared at his lap, the mess of sheets hiding his erection, and wondered why it wouldn't subside, even when confronted with the dream-memory of watching his brother sitting with Blossom and the real-memory of watching that same brother kiss his best friend at last week's party. If anything, that double-whammy punch should've been a guaranteed boner killer. Should've. But, well, he was a teenager, and there'd been more—

“Ugh,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut as it throbbed. She'd been there, too. She'd been on the fence with him, back pressed against his own, with that crazy dream-physics at work because no two people could ever sit on a fence back to back. Nobody ever made fences like that, that wasn't how fences worked. Dreams were fucking stupid.

He sat up again, backing up until he had smushed the pillows against the wall. After a second, he let one of his hands drift down next to him.

Here, nobody's hand met his. There was no gentle, tentative touch at first, no firm, solid squeeze as his gaze moved past the yard and up into the sky. Here, he stared into the darkness of his room, remembering Buttercup tying cherry stems at last week's party, the way her cheeks had been slightly sucked in, the way her lips had wrapped around the cherry every time she pulled one out of her mouth, how sometimes he had glimpsed a sliver of her tongue in between stems. And then there was their sparring match, and it had kinda been like this, where Butch was staring up into the darkness but unable to tear his attention away from Buttercup's face and the bit of her bra he could see.

Butch sank back onto the bed and edged his hands under the sheets.

***

_This is bad._

Brick hadn't had a non-lucid dream in years. He'd forgotten how dreams... could confuse you when you weren't in control of them.

_This is bad_ , he thought again, running his hands through his hair as paced his room, sleep be damned. _This is so very bad_. What did it mean that he'd had a real dream, one that he hadn't been able to recognize as a dream and then take control of? It was like another nail in the coffin that housed Brick's self-control. When he thought about it, there were things that should've been dead giveaways that it hadn't really been happening. His room had been off. It hadn't really looked like his room at all: it'd been missing the desk, the window, and the shelves. There'd only been the bed. How had she gotten in without a window, and without him seeing her on the way back to his place? And she'd worn a skirt, which was wrong, because at the party she'd been in a simple T-shirt and jeans. Not to mention the party itself had actually taken place last week.

And then there was the stuff that had... that had happened...

Brick swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to focus on getting dressed. If nothing else, he should've known then. He should've known that they'd never happen like that.

_Because we shouldn't_ , he thought fervently to himself. Never, that was something that'd never happen because there was no way and besides, Brick wouldn't ever let that happen. It would ruin everything he'd worked for.

Thinking that made Brick feel better, made him feel a little more in control of things. He sighed and looked back at his bed, barely illuminated in the dim light of dawn.

She'd felt so warm and real and wonderful. It was as if she'd really been there. Here. He thought of her whispering, “Open your eyes,” and he wished he hadn't listened to her.

He stared, watching as sunlight gradually shortened the shadows in his room. Eventually he heard a rustling in the kitchen and decided that was as good a time as any to make an appearance.

To Brick's surprise, Butch turned out to be the rustler.

“What are you doing awake?”

“Done sleeping. You look like shit.”

“Fuck off,” Brick muttered, rooting through the cabinets. “God damn it, I keep forgetting to buy some fucking cereal.” He paused and looked back at Butch, who was whistling as he dug the milk out of the fridge. “What's got you in such a good mood this morning?”

“Tugged one out.”

Brick slammed the cabinet doors shut. “Welp, there goes my appetite.”

“And it's just such a beautiful Saturday morning.” Butch tipped his head back as he chugged the milk straight out of the gallon jug.

“Christ, that's disgusting.” Brick gagged, grabbing a marker off the counter and scribbling Butch's name on the jug as he drank. “That's yours.”

Butch set the jug down and sneered. “Mission accomplished! I am an Evil Mastermind. Sorry Brick, you've just been demoted.”

Boomer shuffled into the room then, taking his place groggily at the counter. “Ugh.”

Butch looked from Boomer to Brick, then pointed. “You look like shit and you look like ass. Did I miss something last night?”

Boomer glared at him. “What are _you_ so happy about?”

Brick mimed the motion and jerked his head in Butch's direction, to which Boomer responded, “Welp, so much for my appetite.”

“Like brother, like brother,” Brick said. “Boomer, you look like you haven't slept in weeks.”

“Feels like it.” Boomer ran a hand over his face and stared at the counter.

“Masturbate,” Butch said. “Seriously. That shit helps.”

“Is anybody talking to you, jackass?” Boomer snapped.

“Butch, since you're such a morning kind of guy, why don't you go out and get me some coffee?”

“Only because I care about your well-being so much,” Butch said, snatching Brick's wallet off the counter and pocketing it as he flew to the door. As he flung it open he tossed back, “I'm such a good—Buttercup?”

Buttercup, whose mitt had been lifted to bang on the door, blinked at Butch. Her eyes were still tinged and muddy with sleep, and from the look of her rumpled tank top and loose pants she hadn't changed out of her pajamas. She caught sight of Boomer at the counter and muscled her way into the apartment.

“Oh, shit,” Boomer said, suddenly alert, and tried to take off as Buttercup stalked towards him. She grabbed him as he made a desperate attempt to fly away and dragged him into his room, kicking the door shut. The sounds of a heated scuffle, punctuated by the occasional thump and crash of something breaking, seeped through.

Brick turned his eyes skyward and asked the ceiling, “What the shit is up with this morning?”

“ _Hey!_ ” Butch, no trace of that morning's smile on his face, shouted at Boomer's closed door. “What the fuck are you two doing in there?”

“I swear, I turn my back for one second...” Brick and Butch looked up to find Bubbles entering the apartment now, arms laden with grocery bags and looking much fresher and more together than Buttercup, clad in a cozy-looking dress. “Good morning,” she said brightly to her boyfriend's siblings, and set her burden down on the kitchen counter before floating to Boomer's door. “Buttercup! Leave him—”

The door flew open and a sleep-addled Buttercup trudged out without so much as a grunt at her sister. Bubbles blew her hair out of her face and moved into the bedroom to collect and comfort her poor, victimized boyfriend.

Buttercup headed for the kitchen, angling her head in what might have passed for a nod to Brick. She spotted the milk on the counter and picked it up, staring at Butch's name scribbled on the side.

“Butch, I'm having some,” she announced in a scratchy morning voice, and uncapped it and chugged.

“Way to ask permission,” Butch said, moving to the kitchen counter and staring at Buttercup's neck as she swallowed. Still drinking, she started rummaging through the bags Bubbles had brought over, only setting down the near-empty jug to start pulling out eggs and sausages.

“I'm hungry,” she muttered, to no one in particular. She looked up and blinked slowly at Brick and Butch. “You guys want breakfast?”

The boys exchanged a glance. Buttercup tugged a pan out of the cabinet and cranked the stove on, then rooted through the bags for a loaf of bread, stuffing a few slices in her mouth to keep herself occupied while the pan heated.

“Buttercup, you're making breakfast for Boomer, too,” Bubbles scolded as she walked an achy, wincing Boomer back out of his room.

Buttercup tossed two slices of bread on the counter. “There. Breakfast.”

Bubbles sat Boomer down at the breakfast bar and sighed, taking the slices and moving into the kitchen to jam them in the toaster.

After what felt like a protracted pause where Boomer sat unblinking at the breakfast bar and Butch and Brick only stared at the two girls in their kitchen, Brick moved to look in the bags.

“Is, um. Is there any cereal?” he asked.

“Oh, Brick, I'm sorry, no,” Bubbles said. Her voice was genuinely apologetic, but then she suddenly looked up at him as if she thought better of sympathizing. Despite that, she still asked, “Would you like me to go out and get some?”

“No, that's okay,” he said hastily.

Butch had edged to Buttercup's side and was now leaning on the counter next to the stove, watching as she cooked the sausage patties and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. His gaze drifted to her chest, and he only had the sense to rip his eyes away when he dimly realized from the way the fabric was hugging her curves that she wasn't wearing a bra.

“How do you like your eggs, Butch?” she mumbled, yawning.

He stared at the tiled counter for a second, then smirked at her. “Fertilized.”

She immediately started snorting with laughter and smacked him. “You fuck.”

Boomer's toast finished, and Bubbles loaded the toaster up again before buttering the first two pieces and carrying them over to Boomer. She cooed at him to eat.

Brick fidgeted, looking between the two couples and the open door and daring to feel a little hopeful. But it wasn't like she had any reason to come. Why would she?

He felt uncomfortable, standing there with no one to talk to, and, as stealthily as possible, picked his wallet out of Butch's back pocket and glided to the front door. No one noticed or said “Goodbye,” not even after he clicked the door shut behind him.

***

It was the end of the school day halfway through the week. Butch had not given the dream a second thought. He shouldered his gear for lacrosse and was on his way out of the building when he heard Buttercup's voice amidst the cacophony of student conversation.

“Are you kidding? No way!”

Another voice—male, and one he didn't recognize—pleaded, “But Buttercup, Homecoming—”

Butch instantly snaked through the crowd and was at Buttercup's side in a flash. “Hey! What's up?!”

“Oh, hey Butch,” she said. The guy—one of many who appeared to be beseeching her—lit up as his eyes fell on Butch. Butch narrowed his own back.

“Hey, you could help us too!” he exclaimed.

“Don't listen to him,” Buttercup muttered.

Butch suddenly realized the guy was actually one of many guys gazing hopefully at him and Buttercup. A few of them were in football uniforms.

“Look, Homecoming's coming up—”

“I don't do guys,” Butch interrupted.

The guy gawked at him. “Dude, you are not remotely my type. Also, fucking rude.”

“They want our help pranking the school we're playing for Homecoming,” Buttercup explained to Butch, then turned back to the group. “Except the school would know it was me instantly, you idiots. No dice.”

One of the guys said, “Aw, Buttercup, you're exaggerating—”

“I cut it close last year for you guys,” she growled. “I'm not going down for you fuckers, and neither is this one.” She grabbed Butch's arm and started dragging him down the hall to the athletics building. “Come on.”

“Aw, Buttercup!” the football team whined as a chorus in one voice, and Butch looked wistfully back.

“Aw, Buttercup,” he whined. “That sounds like fun!”

“Don't you dare think about helping them,” Buttercup warned. “Everybody expects me to pull some crazy prank, so the first thing they're going to do when weird shit starts going down is come interrogate _me_.”

“But Buttercup—”

“No 'but's!'”

“It sounds like fun!”

“You bring it up again and I'll rip your face off,” she snarled. “Now quit dragging your God damn feet and go to practice!”

***

_Avoid, avoid, avoid_. That was the game Brick and Blossom were playing with each other.

_Or one of us, at least_ , he thought bitterly as the final bell rang and the rest of the English class rose as one body to go. Blossom was first out the door, despite being on the opposite end of the room, but Brick imagined it was encouraged by the fact that she sat next to him.

He gathered his stuff up in a more subdued manner, taking his time and allowing himself to feel mildly irritated. Sure, he'd asked her to forget it had happened, but he hadn't asked her to treat him like dirt. Or lower.

_But you brought this on yourself_. His face soured as he walked down the hall. What'd he expect? Blossom had been hurt.

Brick's steps carried him to the general vicinity of the studio. They were supposed to practice on their own. Frankly, he didn't expect it to happen, but he wasn't about to let the reason be because he hadn't had the guts to show up.

There were only two girls there, chatting in hushed tones at one wall.

“She was, like, eighty years old or something.”

“And stealing? And they haven't caught her? Well, good for her.”

“Girls.” Blossom emerged from the locker room and snapped at the two girls. “Be more efficient. You can chat while you warm up.” She caught sight of Brick, who was leaning against the mirrors, and, after a second, strode toward him.

“Brick, I'm afraid I'm practicing with the girls today.”

Brick tried to keep the rolling of his eyes subtle and did not succeed. “Big surprise there,” he muttered.

Blossom narrowed her eyes at him. “I've been spending too much time practicing the couples dances and as a result have been shirking my responsibilities as Dance Major. I need to prep with the Company for our Homecoming performance.”

The smart thing to do was to let it go and leave.

He stretched a thin smile on his face and said, “We've got a full show to put on. In November. Where we are doing seventy percent of the legwork. Literally.”

“The Homecoming game is in October, which comes before November, _Brick_.” She bit out his name through gritted teeth and a tense smile of her own to match. “Do the math.”

He bit back the impulse to start screaming and took a deep breath. “You already have set time to work with the Company during the school day on a daily basis. You have a _class_. Our stuff has to happen outside of the schedule and the prep work I can do alone is a bit limited, seeing as it is a dance routine _involving a partner_.”

“I'm _busy._ ”

“I'll _wait._ ” He dropped his stuff with a dramatic, violent thump that echoed in the silent studio. Both of them became abruptly aware of the very large, very quiet audience surrounding them.

Blossom gave a very quiet sigh, shifted her weight, then said in a calmer tone, “Fine. After I'm done with the girls. But you can't wait in here.”

He stared. “I wait in here all the time.”

“Okay, yeah, and you're _distracting_ every time,” she muttered, and for a second his anger waned.

Then she said, “I need the girls to be focusing on me, not the boy watching a bunch of girls in leotards dancing in front of him,” and Brick blinked.

“What are you—”

“I am saying you need to _leave!_ ”

With an irritated groan he spun on his heel and stalked to the doors, many girls backing away as he did so. The doors were those stupid spring-loaded school ones that wouldn't slam. They were stupid. Doors were stupid. Stupid like her.

Brick stood outside on the concrete for a second, trying to get his rage to settle.

The door suddenly opened behind him, and he turned.

“Brick.”

“Yeah?”

“You forgot your stuff,” Blossom said, and dropped his books on the ground.

“What the _fuck_?!” he snapped, but she had already disappeared back into the building.

One well-placed kick sent his books and papers flying, well into and across the parking lot. It would require an embarrassing reclamation later, but Brick was too pissed off to care. His fists were already glowing red.

He zipped around the corner to face the outside wall of the studio and fantasized about doing it, his arms lifted and stretching towards that concrete wall. The mirrors would shatter inside; hell, the whole fucking wall would be gone. And then she'd gape at him and he would say, “Oh, _sorry_. Am I being too ' _distracting_?'” That would show her. That would shut her the fuck up. That would give her a _real_ reason to be infuriated with him.

She didn't get it. She didn't understand his goals, his needs, his wants. She was born into a charmed life, where she was perfect and people loved her and everybody told her so. Heroes were like that. The only people they had to watch out for were the bad guys. The bad guys had to watch out for everybody else, including the other bad guys.

It wasn't that Brick wanted her life, or to be loved and accepted. He couldn't give a rat's ass about any of that stupid shit. But she didn't get it. Clearly she thought that whatever reason he had for cutting that off—that whatever-it-was thing that had happened last month—wasn't good enough, because _she_ was Blossom and _she_ was a Powerpuff Girl and _she_ was used to getting everything she wanted. Brick had spent his entire life in servitude to others. Whatever he wanted, he bled for.

She had it so easy. She didn't get it. She didn't fucking get it.

Brick stared at the concrete, his vision glowing red at the edges where his fists stayed raised, itching to blast a giant fucking hole in the wall of her stupid fucking studio. Eventually the red faded, and he lowered his arms.

_Stupid girl_.

Brick crossed his arms and let his x-ray vision burn past that concrete wall, into the studio. Blossom had her back to the mirrors as she addressed the Company. Brick saw her pause and tense at the abrupt sensation of being watched, and she turned her head to glare.

One of Brick's loose papers flew across the pavement and flattened itself against his leg. He only stared at her, matching her furious glare, and in time the wind picked up again and the paper sailed off into the sky.

***

“Buttercup—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Butch dove in front of her, dropped to his knees, clasped his hands together, and wheedled, “Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaase?”

Buttercup kicked him in the face. “Go fuck yourself.”

The twins glanced back at Butch as he picked himself up off the mall floor and dashed back up. Mitch turned to Buttercup and said, “You guys have been at it all week. What's the deal?”

“She won't prank the team we're playing for Homecoming!” Butch said in a voice that spoke of infinite betrayal.

Floyd lit up. “Oh, dude! Last year she moved all the players' cars to the roof of their school! That was awesome!”

“You aren't doing _anything_ this year, Buttercup?” Lloyd asked.

“I hear a lot of other people requesting punches in the face. Is that really what you guys want? Punches in the face?”

Mitch was lost in thought. “There was an elephant last year too, wasn't there?” He looked at her. “Where'd that thing come from?”

Buttercup emitted a low growl, which prompted Mitch and the twins to all jump back and give her a wide berth. Only Butch remained at her side, still begging with his hands held together in supplication.

“I will vanquish all your enemies.”

“Vanquished,” Buttercup announced. “I got that shit taken care of.”

“I will vanquish all your almost-enemies.”

“See previous answer.”

“I will... pay you lots of money?”

“Keep your dirty blood money, criminal.”

“I will be your personal sex slave!”

Buttercup halted, then angled her head veeeeeery slowly to narrow her eyes at Butch. Mitch and the twins hastily retreated another few feet back. Butch only blinked at her, hands still clasped together.

She faced forward and resumed walking. After a couple of seconds, the boys followed.

“Butter—”

She whipped around and made a threatening motion that implied someone was about to get uppercutted into the stratosphere. Mitch and the twins had already dived under a convenient bench.

“I am _not_ pranking the other team this year,” she snarled. “And neither will you, unless you're looking to get a lot of your blood on my hands.”

Again she turned and began walking away. Butch stared after her, then one of the rusty gears in the sort-of machine that was his brain managed a turn.

“What if we pranked our own school?” he said, and this time when Buttercup paused and turned to look at him, her eyes widened and unfocused in thought, he knew he had finally gotten somewhere.

***

“You could always just tag the school,” Lloyd offered.

Buttercup immediately shook her head. “No. Too small. Plus, it counts as vandalism. An ideal prank does little to no damage to the property while still inconveniencing people. You need to minimize property damage while maximizing the pain-in-the-assness for...” Buttercup trailed off as the boys looked at her in awe. “What? I've been doing this a long time. I'm practically a pro.”

“Tar all the doors shut,” Butch said, beaming with pride at his idea.

“That's vandalism _and_ a fire hazard.”

“So?”

“Tires on the flagpole,” Harry suggested.

All the boys murmured in agreement, but Buttercup shook her head. “No. They'd know it was me and Butch instantly. Nobody else can get that high, and it's too far from the roof of the school for a regular student to make a throw.”

“What if someone had a crane?” Floyd asked.

“Oh, duh, how could I forget? You get your crane-driving license in a week, the timing will be perfect,” Buttercup said. Floyd flipped her off.

“You know, for being the so-called 'expert,' you're doing a ton of shooting ideas down and not very much contributing,” Mitch said.

“No vandalism and nothing that could easily incriminate me or Butch, especially when _I'm_ the one they'll be looking at—”

“I thought we took care of that with the whole 'pranking our own school' thing,” Butch said. “Won't they just think it's Farmsville High pulling the pranks?”

“Better safe than sorry. We need regular people pranks. Cars on the roof and tires on the flagpole are fun, but if we start doing things that no normal person could do, it's going to get pretty obvious pretty fast who's responsible...”

Butch sat back and studied her as she went on, her expression serious and her eyes intense. She was getting so into it. She had wanted to do this so badly.

He wondered how much of his pressuring her had had to do with him wanting to wreak some havoc, and how much of it had had to do with the recognition that _she'd_ been the one itching to do so all along.

***

“Huzzah!” Blossom pulled away and threw up some jazz hands in a false approximation of celebration. “You made it through _without_ screwing up today. Good for you.”

Brick glared back at her as he stalked across the studio, away from her. “Oh, fantastic news. Why don't you give me a smiley face for my trouble, you hag.”

“I'm too young to be a hag,” she scoffed.

“But Blossom! You're _so_ mature. You act _just like one_.”

“Jerk.”

“Hag.”

“Your face is stupid.”

“Your bow is stupid.”

“Your cap is stupid and ugly _and_ it smells.”

“And you're a lying little cun—”

“ _Language!_ ”

There was a groan from the entrance, and Julie stepped in with a group of other girls. “Are you guys still at it? It's been almost a week!”

“Only a week?” Brick said derisively. “It feels like I've wasted half my life in here with her already.”

Blossom narrowed her eyes and shot a warning beam at his arm.

“ _Ow_ _!_ What the fuck?!”

“Cuss again and I'll be aiming a lot lower.”

Having put up with this behavior before and after school for the better part of a week, the rest of the girls knew to give the couple a lot of room—literally. It was getting kinda crowded in the corners when they were stretching and this whole feud was impacting regular Company practice way more than anyone had expected.

Well, Julie had had enough.

“For God's sake, Brick,” she said, raising her voice so it echoed and all the small murmurs of chatter faded. “Just ask her to Homecoming already.”

The temperature dropped and a heavy silence blanketed the studio.

The gaze of hatred Brick was issuing in Julie's direction was murderous enough to give a grown man a heart attack. But Julie shared classes with Bubbles. She'd seen her in action in Art. She'd taken notes.

As she stared back at a furious Brick, he said, “What makes you think I would even consider—”

“I'm not going.”

The room turned as one to look at Blossom, who was kneeling at the boombox next to the entrance and switching out her CDs. There were no mirrors against that wall, and her hair fell forward, covering her face. The room watched her in stunned silence for a bit. She seemed very intent on picking up each CD case and reading every single line of text printed on them.

Finally Brick turned to Julie and said, “Why'd you bring it up, anyway? Haven't you got a date yet?”

Julie, who still seemed to be recovering from her less-than-successful attempt at diffusing the UST (which had only resulted in a lot of uncomfortable T), blinked and said, “Uh, no.”

“Then I'll take you,” Brick said, and the room burst into muted chatter only so it could fall into a hush again. Blossom continued to busy herself with her CDs.

Julie stammered, “I'm sorry, I didn't—”

“No, don't be,” Brick said in a soothing voice as he came up to her and clapped a hand on her shoulder, his eyes dark. “It's the least I can do.”

The bell rang, a punctuation mark at the end of his statement, and Blossom said, “Brick, you should get going. Class will be starting soon.”

He sidestepped Julie and made for the door, picking up his stuff along the way. “See you, girls.” On the way out he passed Blossom. Neither of them paused or looked at each other.

As soon as he was gone Blossom stood and turned, her eyes hard.

“How do you expect to practice when you're crowded at the walls like that? You're dancers, not cockroaches. Spread out. Let's go.”

***

“So _that_ totally blew up in my face,” Julie muttered. Without looking up from what she was doing, Bubbles placed a soothing hand on her friend's shoulder. The rest of the Art class was filtering into the room.

“Well, you get to go to Homecoming with Brick now,” Bubbles pointed out. “Putting his, you know, entire personality aside, would you really count that as a loss?”

“Trust me, it isn't that,” Julie said, drumming her fingers on the table.

A sudden chill descended over the room, causing everyone to pause for a shudder. Bubbles looked up and said, “Brick must be on his way in,” and sure enough, the boy in question walked through the door.

“Brick,” Bubbles said, returning to the photos in her hand, “the next time you're in a bad mood, could you let me know so I can remember to bring an extra sweater? It's cold enough as it is.”

“You know, half the time I don't have one fucking clue what you are talking about,” he grumbled, and took his seat next to Bubbles with a heavy _thump_.

“Heard you asked Julie,” Bubbles said.

He grunted. Julie shifted on Bubbles' other side.

“Did you mean it?” Bubbles went on.

“What, does she not want to go?” He leaned forward so he could make eye contact with Julie. “Do you not want to go?”

Julie made a bit of a flailing gesture with her hand and sputtered, “I-it isn't that—”

“Try being nice to this one, Brick,” Bubbles interjected, and both Julie and Brick shot her a look. Bubbles declined to look up as she shuffled through her pictures.

Brick looked like he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind and sat back in his chair with a huff. Julie fidgeted, then looked at the blurry photos in Bubbles' hands.

“What're those all about, anyway?”

Bubbles shrugged. “Oh, just going through the stuff for my collage.”

Suddenly Boomer burst into the room and dove for Bubbles and Brick.

“Have you seen this?!” he cried, bodily lifting them up (“ _Hey_ _!_ ” Brick snapped) so he could carry them out the door. “All the bathrooms on the second floor! You gotta see this!”

The rest of the class exchanged glances, then rose as one curious horde and rushed out after Boomer. He'd flown up the nearest set of stairs, Brick protesting all the while.

“Boomer, put me the fuck down or I'll—”

Boomer deposited them in front of a boys' restroom and urged them forward. “Go see—”

“Boomer!” Bubbles gasped, horrified. “I can't go in there!”

“Oh, right,” he said, then dragged them both to the opposite door, into the girls' restroom.

There were a few girls at the sinks who turned and erupted into terrified shrieks upon spotting Boomer and Brick. Blossom, who was among them, shrieked something else.

“ _What are you two doing in here_ _?!_ ”

Boomer ignored her and pushed Bubbles toward the sinks. “Look!”

“ _Get out_ _!_ ” Blossom ordered, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls.

Brick, who was not keen on having his eardrums ruptured, made a rude gesture at her. “Gladly,” he bit, and made for the door.

“Omigosh, goldfish!” Bubbles squealed, and Brick paused.

“What?”

Bubbles was leaning over the sink and waggling a hand at the basin. “Hi, Goldie! Little Goldies! Aw, aren't you just the prettiest little things...”

His curiosity piqued, Brick started to float back, but was stopped by Blossom's hand smacking into his chest. It then fisted in his shirt.

“Get out,” she said again, her voice a low threat.

Hot anger flooded Brick's senses and he made to grab her wrist and fling it away when the bathroom was mobbed by a tidal wave of girls.

“This one, too?!”

“All of them! All of the bathrooms on this floor!”

“Yeah, the boys said it's in theirs too!”

“How'd they do it?”

“They? Do you know who did it?”

“Uh, if I knew who did it, would I be asking?”

The surge of girls knocked Brick into Blossom, who colored and tried to shove him away. He grimaced and shoved back. What resulted was an awkward shoving match, further complicated by the girls who were pouring in to coo at the sinks.

“Stop touching me!” Blossom said, her hands braced against the inside crook of his elbow. The two of them were knocked to the wall by the crowd.

“It's not like I want to!” Brick snapped, and then got shoved into her. His hands flew up to the tiled wall to stop himself from falling over, while Blossom's face went right into his chest.

Despite his anger and frustration, he felt the warmth of her breath through his shirt, the hands that brushed against his sides, and when he inhaled and smelled her shampoo his mind flew to the memory of that night.

Blossom had gone very still, flattened against the wall. Her hands felt hesitant on his body and shook a little before clenching the fabric of his shirt.

“Please leave,” she said, her voice now a hush of a whisper, and Brick tried to pull away so she couldn't feel his chest tighten and so he could look at her. He only managed an inch or so.

Her hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Please. Leave me alone.”

A moment passed before Brick tensed his arms on either side of her against the wall and shoved back. The mass of girls behind him screeched as a few of them got knocked into the opposite wall. There was a faint splash and Bubbles cried, “Boomer! You almost knocked some of them out!”

A very authoritative presence suddenly cleared its throat, and, as if on cue, a circle of girls widened around a steaming Principal Keane. She caught sight of Brick and Boomer and her narrowed gaze narrowed further.

Brick swallowed, then snatched Boomer in a flash of red and sped both of them out of the bathroom.

Bubbles pawed at her pockets for a slip of paper and mumbled to herself, “Note to self: buy sandwich bags.”

***

“Look, sweetheart,” the Professor said uneasily as he examined their kitchen. Every available flat surface had some sort of container on it, ranging from coffee mugs to Tupperware, and every last container held at least two goldfish, space permitting. “I know you want to give them a good home, and goldfish are a little more low maintenance than, say, a whale...”

“Oh Professor, that was _years_ ago. Are you going to keep bringing it up?” Bubbles said absentmindedly. She started digging into the fine china cabinet and extracted a few wine glasses to empty her last goldfish baggie into.

“I'm sorry, Bubbles, it's just... you know, you've brought an awful lot of these home...”

“You're going to wash all these glasses and stuff when you're done, right? Because I'm not,” Buttercup said, examining the shimmering contents of their blender. “By the way, I'd move these little dudes. This isn't exactly the best place for them.”

“I unplugged it. They'll be fine. By the way, Professor, Boomer's coming over to help me install a pond in the back—”

“Excuse me,” the Professor suddenly said. “I just remembered something I need to sharpen.”

“Is there anything to drink out of in here that doesn't have a fish in it?!” Blossom appeared in the doorway holding two bottles of water. “Bubbles, how'd you even fit them in here in the first place?”

“Creatively.”

Buttercup dug a drink out of the fridge—an unopened canned soda, so as far as she knew it was mercifully goldfish free—and waved at her sisters as she floated up to their room. Once there she shut the door and gave it a few minutes before party dialing Butch and the boys.

“Yo.” Butch's voice echoed on the line.

“Sweet, I didn't know my phone could do this,” Mitch said.

“Hey, I think we lost Harry,” Floyd said.

“I haven't even said anything yet, you jackass,” Harry said. “Where's Lloyd?”

“I'm on speakerphone here with Floyd,” Lloyd said.

“Alright, so the goldfish thing worked alright,” Buttercup said. “We should do something that'll ID Farmsville High as the culprits next, though. Right now the goldfish have just thrown everyone off.”

“Shouldn't we give it a couple of days?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, but we should take a night to prep.” Buttercup looked out her window, away from the city.

“You sound like you got something in mind,” Butch said.

“I do.” She lowered her voice. “Tomorrow evening. Mitch, bring your van. Butch, you should come along too. I'll need your help.”

“With what?”

“Catching... things.”

***

Boomer fidgeted as he waited by Bubbles' locker, relaxing only when she entered his line of vision. He hurried forward to help with her books.

“Hey. How are the fish doing?”

“Great.” She pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you for helping with the pond.”

“They're all still alive?”

“It's only the second morning since I rescued them,” she said petulantly. “Surely you have more faith in my pet ownership powers?”

“I was just asking.” He laughed as they edged around the rest of the students in the crowded hall. “I didn't mean anything by it. Fish are pretty fragile, after all.”

“Pretty tasty, too,” Butch jumped in, appearing over Boomer's shoulder.

“You're here early,” Boomer said.

“Lacrosse practice. You seriously keeping all those things, Goldilocks?”

“Why, Butch? Do you want some? I suppose Axel and Rose could use a change of scenery—”

“Hold up. You _named_ all of them already?” Butch said in disbelief.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” screeched a girl at the end of the hallway, and then a symphony (or, well, more of a cacophony) of voices rose in pitch to join her.

Boomer cocked his head. “Is it just me, or does that squealing sound like—”

“ _Piggy!_ ” Bubbles gasped.

The crowd was parting like the Red Sea for an adolescent pig, snorting and oinking its way frantically down the hall. Its body was slick with something like sweat or oil, and as it barreled past Bubbles, Boomer, and Butch, they spied a _#3_ painted on its side.

“Holy shit!” Butch cried.

“Oh, it's so cute!” Bubbles squealed, eliciting a look from Butch.

“I wonder what the number three stands for...” Boomer said.

Another round of screaming rose up, and a second pig, going the opposite direction this time, flew by, resembling the first pig in every way save for a spot on its nose and a _#5_ in place of the _#3_.

“Holy crap, you guys!” Buttercup streaked over the heads of the crowd to join the trio. “Did you see that?!”

A blur of pink suddenly whizzed by, screaming in Blossom's voice. “ _What are pigs doing in THIS SCHOOL_ _?!_ ” The pink blur stopped, then doubled back so it could grab Bubbles' and Buttercup's arms. “Girls, we gotta catch them all!”

“Pokemon!” Boomer sang in a small voice, earning a _thwack_ upside the head from Butch.

“Quit embarrassing yourself,” Butch muttered.

“All of them?!” Buttercup cried. “You mean there's more than two?”

“That's what the numbers are for, aren't they?” Blossom said, then yelped as the #3 pig shot past her legs, nearly toppling her over.

“Got it!” Butch dove, his eyes dark with purpose.

“ _Watch it!_ ”

“Good thing you weren't wearing a skirt today,” Buttercup pointed out, and Blossom shot her a glare.

Butch, who had wrestled the pig to the ground with no shortage of terrified pig squealing, lost his grip, and the pig continued on its voyage of terror down the hall of screaming students, bringing chaos wherever it went. Butch stood and faced the group, holding up his arms. The girls and Boomer recoiled at the mess of his shirt.

“Catching these things is gonna suck. They're all greased up.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey! Who wants a hug?”

“You stay your ass over there,” Buttercup said, backing away.

Blossom ignored him and said, “Why didn't you just use your shield to catch it?”

Butch blinked. “Oh! Duh.” He turned and threw up a practice shield, whacking an approaching Brick in the face with it.

“Ha!” Buttercup laughed.

“Eep,” Butch squeaked, and flicked it off. Brick lost his footing on the slick floor and slipped, crashing into Butch, who landed on top of him.

Kim, who'd been passing by, snapped a quick photo.

“E-mail that to me,” Bubbles whispered to her friend.

“Um,” Boomer said, staring at his girlfriend.

Brick shoved his brother off of him, taking a second to examine his ruined clothes before narrowing his glowing red eyes at Butch.

Butch made frantic motions with his hands.

“I'mgonnagolookforthosepigsnow,” he explained and took off, Brick hot on his heels.

“Brick all greased up.” Buttercup sighed.

“Shame he had his clothes on, yeah?” Bubbles said.

“Hey!” Boomer cried.

“ _Stop that_ ,” Blossom said.

“ _Girls_ _!_ ” A very disheveled Principal Keane was waving at them from one end of the hall. “ _Get those pigs_ _!_ ”

The girls took off, Boomer tailing after Bubbles. Buttercup passed by Butch, still fleeing a furious Brick, and for a split second they exchanged a victorious little smirk before resuming flight.

***

The Professor sighed as he stared out at their backyard, now home to four pigs. Bubbles hummed to herself as she fed her goldfish in their newly installed fish pond, courtesy of Boomer.

“Sweetheart,” the Professor called, then thought better of it and just sighed again. Instead, he read the numbers on the pigs' sides, then asked, “Where's number four?”

“Blossom's working on it,” Bubbles said.

The Professor glanced at the clock inside the kitchen. “It's almost six!”

Right on cue, Blossom flung open the front door, looking tired, irritated, and greasy. She trudged into the living room and joined the Professor at the back door, her eyes dark as she took in the four now-peaceful pigs, snorting and ambling contentedly around the yard. After a long moment, she turned and floated towards the stairs.

“Where's number four, Blossom?” Bubbles asked.

“There _was_ no number four,” she grumbled. “I just spent an hour and a half looking for a pig that _didn't even exist_.” Buttercup wandered out of their room just as Blossom hit the top of the stairs. “I swear,” Blossom muttered, “when I find out who's responsible for those pigs—”

Buttercup glanced at her and said, “Well, aren't they from Farmsville?”

Blossom paused.

Buttercup shrugged and made her way to the stairs. “Hello? The Farmsville High _Hogs_. I mean, their star quarterback—Joe-something-or-other—his family owns the biggest pig farm. Farmsville High brings one of his pigs to every game for good luck. We're playing them for Homecoming in a week and a half. Isn't it obvious?”

Blossom watched her sister float downstairs to go say hi to the pigs, her eyes narrowing in thought.

***

“Hurry up, hurry up,” Buttercup hissed, twisting her neck to look at the clock every five milliseconds. “The bell’s gonna ring any minute now!”

“Bitch, chill,” Butch hissed back, his arms laden with stacks and stacks of paper cups. In a flash of green the entire hall floor, wall to wall, was covered with them, and then he produced two ten-gallon jugs of water from his immense backpack and passed one off to Buttercup. With superspeed, in less than two seconds every cup was filled, and they tossed the jugs to Floyd, who bolted for the nearest exit.

Buttercup and Butch exchanged a quick air-five with Harry, who had been standing watch, and who now took off up the stairs. They dashed back through the hall and across the atrium to the gym doors, fake chatting as they headed towards Principal Keane's office.

The bell rang just as they were halfway there, and the halls suddenly flooded with students. Over in the pranked hallway, there were several yelps, followed by what sounded like a few very unlucky people falling over with a muted splash.

Buttercup and Butch heard Keane’s phone ring, and within seconds she had flung the door open and was muscling her way over to the hall. By now there was a large crowd amassed at each end, and the chatter that filled the air was a mixture of shock, confusion, irritation, and awed respect.

Buttercup tugged Butch along after Principal Keane—they didn't look conspicuous; in fact, most students were following her—and she could've sworn she saw a vein pop as their principal stalked across the hall.

Mr. Bean was somewhere midway down, helping up a dripping student. “Principal Keane!” he cried. “None of us can go anywhere without making a mess!” Several other teachers and students trapped within their classrooms voiced their assent. A few teachers and students were working on picking up every cup of water, but they had to keep running back and forth between the nearest bathroom to dump them out. It would take forever.

“Holy—” Butch started, and the Principal turned to give him and Buttercup a hard look. Both of them had the most innocent of innocent expressions on their faces.

“Those Farmville punks sure know how to pull a prank,” Buttercup said, shaking her head in disbelief, and that inspired several others in the crowd to join in.

“Dude, yeah, with Homecoming next week...”

“How'd they even get in?

“...Had to be a team effort...”

Principal Keane's eyes narrowed at Buttercup and Butch. Brick came up behind them, his face sour (evidently aggravated to no end at the number of students he was having to shove out of his way), and his expression only intensified when he reached the end of the hall to find it was blocked by hundreds of water-filled paper cups.

He heaved an enormous, irritated sigh, then lifted up and floated over them down the hall.

Butch blinked. “Hey, yeah. We can do that.”

A bold girl cried, “Brick! Take me with you!”

“Grow your own powers,” he replied without so much as a glance. As he turned down another hall, continuing to float over the heads of the other students, Blossom appeared at the end opposite Butch, Buttercup, and Principal Keane.

“Oh, for—” She groaned, then put on her best I'm-in-Charge voice and commanded, “Everybody back up!” The crowd obeyed, watching as she took a deep inhale, then blew out frost across the entire hall, freezing every last cup of water. Cheering rang out, followed by several formerly imprisoned students kicking over the frozen cups as they walked out of their classes.

Principal Keane took over. “Okay, everybody! Team effort here! As you're walking through, everybody grab a cup and throw it away!”

“What are you gonna do when all the cups of ice melt into cups of water in the trash and everything floods?” Buttercup asked, and the Principal issued her a glare.

“You two,” she said, pointing at Butch and Buttercup, whose faces fell.

“What?!” Butch cried.

“Principal Keane, we weren't even—“

“Shut up and come with me.”

The two of them exchanged a look, then sighed and followed Principal Keane back to her office. After each took their seat, Blossom walked in after them.

“What are you doing here?” Buttercup asked, racking her brain for anything she may have let slip, while Butch remained stone-faced.

“Blossom told me what you said about these pranks at home last night.”

Butch's gaze darted to Buttercup, his green eyes sharp and intense with an unspoken question. Buttercup tried to remember what she'd said, then opted to play dumb. “And that was...?”

“About Farmsville High,” Blossom said. “Joe Jones' family and their pig farm. The thing is, I dropped by their place early this morning before school.”

_No cameras_ , Buttercup thought. _No guard dogs. No guards, period._ Had she and Butch been spotted? Had someone been awake in the house and seen them?

“They're missing four pigs,” Blossom continued, then stared at Buttercup as if her sister had something to say.

Buttercup returned her leader's gaze with a level eye before saying, “Aaaaaand?”

Blossom blinked. “And you were right. Those pigs are the Jones', and Joe Jones is Farmsville High School's star quarterback. It's Farmsville High. They're the ones behind these pranks.”

Now Butch, too, was openly gaping at Blossom, though for reasons other than his usual reasons for gaping at her.

“You're kidding,” he said.

Buttercup felt a delirious smile breaking onto her face; she scaled it back to a smug smirk instead. “What did I tell you?”

“I wouldn't expect anything less from Principal Walter,” Ms. Keane said under her breath, drawing everyone's attention again. Her gaze had riveted itself to the upper right corner of her office, its intensity suggesting that she was lost elsewhere. “Susan always had a competitive streak, ever since the third grade... that stupid sleepover...”

Blossom cleared her throat and Ms. Keane snapped to. She glanced around her office and uncurled her fists, drumming her fingers a few times before moving on.

“Yes. Well, the point is, I wouldn't put any of these shenanigans past Farmsville High.”

“So... what are me and Butch doing here?” Buttercup asked, her gaze darting between their principal and her sister.

Blossom moved to stand by Principal Keane. “Well, under normal circumstances I wouldn't condone this sort of behavior, but given the Homecoming spirit, and Butch's and your... _penchant_ for mischief-making...”

She seemed to struggle with the rest, as if she had to battle some inner voice, then finally looked to Ms. Keane for help.

Buttercup and Butch blinked, then, simultaneously, “What?”

***

“I gotta hand it to you guys,” Harry said, pushing another stack of pancakes to a catatonic Buttercup. “You're really pulling off this double-teaming shit like _pros_.”

A frazzled Butch stopped guzzling coffee long enough to throw a panicked eye across the booth at their friend. “Who said I was a pro? This pro shit is a lie. Who said that? Pro? Pro-what?”

Buttercup summoned enough energy to whack Butch half-heartedly in the solar plexus, while Harry went on, “Tires on Farmsville High's flagpole, may I remind you, was _my_ idea.”

Mitch snorted as the twins flagged down a waiter to refill their drinks. “Gettin' a little specific there, aren't you? You suggested doing that to _Townsville_ High.”

“Whatever. The point is, I suggested it.”

Lloyd reached over to pour some syrup on Buttercup's pancakes while Floyd tried to prod her upright with a fork. “Come on, Buttercup, you better eat something. It's nearly two in the morning.”

“Butch, you better eat something, too,” Mitch said.

“You and your food can go fuck yourself,” Butch said in a rush, bouncing his knee in the booth. He was surrounded by empty sugar packets and a miniature mountain of discarded coffee stirrers. “I just need this shit plugged into a vein and I'm good, I don't need any fucking food right now, and _Jesus Christ_ , where are they with the coffee, I told her to just leave the fucking pot _here—_ ”

The boys knew better than to try and stop him at this point. Floyd, having given up on trying to get Buttercup to eat, moved to cut a piece of her stack for himself. As his fork headed for her plate, she snatched the butter knife and slammed it down in his path, where it stuck upright in the table.

“Don't you dare,” she threatened. A cowed Floyd retreated.

Both Buttercup and Butch were sporting dark rings under their eyes—a result of the work they'd been doing to keep both Farmsville High and Townsville High in a constant state of prank-suffering. They had considered dropping their plans for continuing to prank Townsville High, until...

Harry sat back and said, “I wonder what happened to those two Farmsville kids who tried to take credit for all our work—”

“Those little _dicks_ ,” Buttercup snarled, her eyes flashing. She dove into her pancakes with renewed vigor. “Claiming _they_ were the fucking masterminds! Bullshit! Did you even _see_ them? Did they look like they had the _brains_ to put together shit that was half as good?!”

Buttercup continued to stab at her food as if it had committed a great personal injustice against her. Butch threw back the rest of his coffee, then peered into the bottom of the mug, seemingly attempting to will more coffee to appear.

“Well, we got 'em back,” Mitch said, trying to reassure her. As soon as Buttercup had gotten wind of the two Farmsville High kids who had “confessed” to the pranks, to the point of physically turning themselves in to Principal Keane, she'd called up the boys in a fit of rage. While the two guys had been in Principal Keane's office, the gang had affixed cotton balls doused with water to the entire surface area of all the Townsville High football players' cars, then done the same to the Farmsville High kids' car. Except with super glue instead.

“The death threat you scrawled on their windshield might've been going overboard, though, Buttercup,” Harry said.

“I still can't believe Farmsville High has a swimming pool and we don't,” Lloyd said covetously. “You guys got enough Jell-O?”

“What kinda fucking question is that, man, of _course_ we've got enough—” Butch's eyes widened and he shot upright, upsetting several glasses on the table. “ _You! Coffee over here! Now!_ ”

“How're you going to get a whole pool of Jell-O to solidify?” Mitch asked Buttercup.

For the briefest of moments the hint of a triumphant little smirk materialized onto Buttercup's face. “Ice breath.”

“No way!” The boys gaped at her, save for Butch, who was busy wrestling a full coffeepot away from a very flustered waiter.

“How'd you convince Blossom to help?!” Harry cried, flabbergasted.

“In the interest of the Homecoming spirit and all,” she said. “Empty the packets in the pool, stir it up, chill with the help of Blossom, and voilà! Farmsville High gets to swim laps in a cherry-flavored, gelatinous wasteland.”

The boys clapped as Buttercup yawned and took a bow. Having been asked by their own Principal to start pranking the opposing school, Buttercup and Butch had no reason to be discreet about feats that required superhuman abilities. Farmsville High had now suffered having all the tires of their football team's cars looped around the flagpole; a flock of angry chickens in the air conditioning vents; the statue of their hog mascot relocated to a local Malph's while sporting an old Townsville High cheerleading uniform, courtesy of Bubbles; and the entirety of their football field being covered with mooing, snorting, quacking, clucking, neighing, and various other noise-making livestock.

The unfortunate trade-off was lost sleep. Buttercup, still eating, was tipping forward at the same time, threatening to doze off in a pile of maple syrup-laden pancakes with some fruit compote on the side, and Butch had downed so much coffee over the past few days that, as he told the gang, he'd been “pissing brown.” He was currently throwing back mug after mug of coffee as if he were doing shots.

A knock on the glass window drew their attention, and they looked up to see Blossom, looking pretty uncomfortable about the prospect of aiding near-professional troublemakers.

“I want to be back home in bed within half an hour,” she said, her voice muffled through the glass.

“That's our cue,” Buttercup said, shoving the last forkful of pancake in her mouth. “See you guys tomorrow. Thanks for coming out. Come on, Butch.”

They zipped out, Butch clutching the coffeepot the waiter had surrendered. Within seconds he had inhaled it and was in the air with the girls, carrying what looked like two tons of Jell-O packages into the night sky.

***

_What am I even doing here?_ Brick stared disdainfully at the Farmsville Hogs, facing off against the Townsville Townies on the field for their Homecoming game. Honestly. Who had come up with Townsville High's name? That was like naming a dog Dog. Though Brick wasn't terribly interested, the game itself wasn't bad. Apparently the real entertainment had happened before it'd started, something to do with Principal Keane and Farmsville High's principal.

Next to him, Julie was cheering with the rest of the crowd, which included some of Bubbles' Choir friends—most of the people he'd seen at the beach over the summer, in fact. Robin was the only one whose name he remembered. Mike's letter jacket was like a permanent fixture around that girl's shoulders these days.

_You brought this on yourself_ , he thought. A sobering reminder. Julie would have to leave in a few to get ready for the Company's performance at halftime. He hadn't seen Blossom yet. Not that he was looking or anything.

His cell buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.

_Hmm._ He answered.

“Hi, Mrs. Morbucks. Sorry about the noise, but I can still hear you.”

“Just a brief message, anyway. Since she can't be in touch with you personally, she called to let me know you've a suit waiting for you at Sequor—it's a boutique downtown. Your brothers' are there as well.”

_Penny_ , Brick thought, his eyes drifting across the field. “Thanks, Mrs. Morbucks. I...”

His nerves were suddenly all on end, tingling. There was a shadow moving across the field with no owner, and as Brick watched it slipped beneath the Townsville High bleachers.

“I appreciate it,” he said, and closed his phone.

“Hey,” Julie said, patting his arm. “I've got to go get ready.”

“Alright.”

After she'd disappeared into the horde of people he edged to the stairs and stole away under the bleachers.

It was uncharacteristically, oddly empty—no groups of people chatting, no couples making out—as if they'd all been driven away by some unsettling presence.

Brick hovered for a short while, looking around, then rolled his eyes and said, “You know, I already know you're here.”

“Oh, Brick, you never were any fun,” Him said as He materialized, sporting a pout.

“Whaddaya want?”

Him drifted in a lazy circle around Brick. “Just checking up on you. I worry about you, you know.”

“You tried stabbing me in the chest last time,” Brick muttered.

“That wasn't me, that was just a thing I was playing with.” Him clucked dismissively, waving a claw. “I just put it out there. It just so _happened_ to go after you.”

“Arguing semantics, are we?” Brick said, a hard edge to his voice.

“You always did like to throw around big words to give off an intelligent air.”

“What do you _want?_ ”

“I told you! I'm checking up on you!” Him jumped close to Brick, crossing His legs and resting His chin on a claw. He adopted an expression of concern. “How's school going?”

Brick only responded with a level glare.

“Are you eating enough?”

Silence.

“Excited about Prom tomorrow?”

“It's Homecoming,” Brick automatically corrected, then cursed himself. Him was grinning, triumphant at having elicited a response.

“My mistake.”

“If this is all you're going to do,” Brick said, turning on his heel—

“Are you sleeping okay, Brick?” Him asked.

“Then I'm leaving,” Brick finished, floating away.

Him's voice was beginning to fade behind him. “Okay! It's just...”

Suddenly a slender pair of arms wove around Brick from behind, the soft figure of a girl pressed up against his back, and Blossom's voice whispered, “It's just I hear you've been having bad dreams.”

Brick twisted away and shoved it back. She made a soft ”Oof!” noise when he pushed her to the ground, and she— _it_ rubbed an arm and looked up at him, its expression hurt and uncomprehending.

“Brick,” it said, and it looked just like her, spoke just like her, had even smelled just like her when it had pressed up against him. “Not so rough.”

“Very fucking funny,” Brick snapped. “I knew you were behind them.” Brick _had_ been having bad dreams—terrible dreams, by his measure. He could no longer lucid dream; he hadn't been able to since that first dream about Blossom, and the worst was that even though they were on less-than-friendly terms, Brick was still dreaming about her with distressing frequency. More than once a week. Sometimes more than once a night.

It stood in Blossom's body, peering at him. “Behind what? Brick, I can't make you dream anything.”

“You are full of shit,” Brick growled.

“I can't create something out of nothing,” it said, still in Blossom's voice, but with _His_ echoing faintly behind. It began to saunter up to Brick—unreal, how the movement of its hips even resembled hers...

It drew up to Brick and paused, considering him with her wide pink eyes. “In order for me to be able to do anything—anything at all—there has to be the slightest little sliver of doubt...”

A hand at Brick's waist, dimly. “Or fear...”

Another, sliding up his chest. “Or hurt...”

Then Blossom, drawing closer, her lips almost on his. “Or desire—”

A sudden red blast knocked it away. Brick's eyes were glowing red with anger, an anger that faltered as he took in her prone form, splayed and unmoving on the ground.

_Tricks_ , he thought. _It's all just tricks with Him_.

The figure began to shudder with His laughter, and a crazed smile broke out on Blossom's face, twisting her expression into something almost grotesque. It climbed to its feet with alarming speed and an unnatural movement, and laughed at Brick.

“Brick!” it said in Him's high-pitched voice with Blossom's soft, pink mouth. “Where's your sense of humor?!”

Brick shot out from under the bleachers to the parking lot.

Laughter again, this time echoing in every molecule of air that surrounded Brick as he flew to his car. “The funniest part, you know... the _best_ part is, Brick...”

Brick stabbed at the button on his car remote to unlock the doors.

“Even if I could, I wouldn't have to make you do or feel or dream anything,” Him's voice echoed, following Brick into his car. “I'm just a spectator. You're doing fine all by yourself.”

***

Butch spotted movement in the bushes and fired the hose. Something yowled and went streaking off across the street.

“Only a cat,” he muttered to himself. There was a door opening and slamming behind him, and he twisted to see Buttercup floating back outside, her top half enveloped by an old bomber jacket.

She shuddered and drew it tight around her shoulders. “Ugh. Much better. I was freezing out here. Spot any Farmsville guys yet?”

“Not since you were here,” he responded. For all that Buttercup was King Prankster, due to the prominence of the Powerpuff Girls' home it had become a significant prank target for opposing teams. The night of the Homecoming game was particularly popular, since the enemy assumed the Girls would all be at the game. So Buttercup and Butch were playing guard duty, hosing off would-be pranksters from her front lawn.

As Buttercup sat back down a shadow made a leap over Robin's fence that was the exact opposite of graceful. Butch spied it and shot the hose, and the cry it made when it was hit was definitely human.

“That's right, fucker, move it,” he announced. “Otherwise you're getting a blast of something green instead of something wet, and that shit'll sting.”

The guy ran off and Buttercup asked, “Was that a ninja suit?”

Butch started laughing. “It totally was! That dork!”

“No, seriously. We've had ninjas attack the house before. Believe it or not it is a _giant_ pain in the ass.”

“Well, the dude tripped over a fence, so I'm pretty sure he wasn't a pro. Here. You want to do hose duty for awhile?”

She took the hose and gave it a few perfunctory squirts. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

He shifted in his lawn chair. “Yeah, sure.”

“The Professor give you a hard time?”

Butch made a noncommittal grunt that sounded like it was forcing the noncommittal part. Considering Butch's gender, and the fact that he was coming within three yards of the house, the Professor had insisted on talking to him. Mitch and the rest of the gang had declined to come tonight—they'd been spoken to by the Professor a while back and had a greater sense of self-preservation.

“What'd he ask you?” Buttercup prodded.

“... Nothing. Or, I, uh, don't... remember.” Butch cleared his throat and darted a glance over his shoulder back at the house.

“Seriously?”

“Could we, um, talk about something else? Because I don't remember. Um. Yeah.” When Butch had joined Buttercup out on the front lawn, he'd looked sicker than the time he'd actually _been_ sick with the AB Virus.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Butch's attention was still on the house, and he looked—for once in his life—a little fearful. Buttercup turned and followed his gaze to find the Professor issuing a very hard, frightening glare at Butch from the living room window.

Buttercup aimed the hose and sprayed it at the window. “Hey! Shoo, Professor! Go work on your science! Go on!”

The figure, warped through the wet glass, moved away from the window. Buttercup watched a few seconds more to make sure he was good for his word, then turned to the front again. She smacked Butch's shoulder to get him to do the same.

“Chill. Sorry about that. He's a dad.”

“Yeah...” Butch glanced at her, taking in the old jacket she was wearing. “Is that one of his?”

“Huh?”

“The jacket. He give it to you?”

Buttercup's face was suddenly shadowed and unreadable. “Nah. It was, um... Mitch's dad's.”

Butch was already quiet, but the world seemed to get a thousand times quieter in the pause that followed Buttercup's revelation. She kept her eyes trained forward, refusing to make eye contact. A car drove down their street and turned into a driveway, and she could sense its headlight beams passing over Butch's face.

He sat back in his chair, looking around. Buttercup squirted the hose into the street a couple of times.

“You still... why are you keeping it?”

She stared at her lap. “Dunno. Just... haven't given it back yet.”

“Why are you wearing it?”

“It's the warmest thing I own,” she explained, then furrowed her brow and looked up. “What do you care?”

Now it was his turn to stare at his lap. “I don't really care.”

They sat in silence for a while, Buttercup turning over the hose in her hands.

“I mean,” he started, then trailed off, unsure where to go. “I don't know. Just... this shit seems to really bum you out, is all.”

She stared at the worn leather hem of the jacket, feeling the _M_ written on the back burning a hole between her shoulders as she sat here next to Butch.

“But it _is_ a cold night, I guess.”

“I've been meaning to give it back. It's just... it's like...” She groaned, exasperated. “I don't know. It's like, I hate reminding him of it, you know? Especially since we're talking now. I mean, we don't talk about _that_ shit, and I don't wanna... bring it up with him. Anymore, I mean. Like... ever.”

Butch dug the toe of his shoe into the grass. “Yeah.”

It would have been an understatement to say Buttercup was feeling a little guilty for putting his dad's jacket on. But it wasn't like she and Butch were... they were just friends.

“Nice jacket,” he said, not looking at it.

She rubbed the edge of the worn leather sleeve in one hand. “Yeah.”

***

The following afternoon found the two sisters who hadn't been on guard duty working atop the roof.

“Blossom, help me weigh that corner down,” Bubbles said, pointing to indicate the bit of tarp that kept flying up.

Blossom flew over with one of the rocks Bubbles had carried up to the roof and did as she asked. “Are we ever going to see this art project of yours, Bubbles?”

“Maybe.” She laid another rock on the last corner and announced, “Done. Now to get ready for Homecoming. Are you sure you're not coming, Blossom?”

Blossom laughed as they flew down to the backyard, now animal-free—the pigs had been returned to the Jones family after last night's game (decked out in Townsville High jerseys, of course)—and into the house.

“Pretty sure. I don't have a dress, anyway.”

“You could totally borrow one of mine.”

“Still don't want to go, sorry.”

Bubbles pouted. “I wanted to do your makeup!”

“Bubbles, you've only got—” Blossom paused to check the clock. “Three hours until Boomer picks you up.”

“Oh, I better start getting ready,” Bubbles said in a rushed panic, and dashed into their bathroom.

Three hours later (two assignments later, for Blossom), Bubbles was putting the finishing touches on her hair.

“Your dress is so... _sparkly_ ,” Buttercup said, eyeing their sister from her bed with considerable disdain. “How many vampires died to make that dress?” After a second of consideration, she added, “Please tell me a lot.”

“Last chance to change your mind, Blossom,” Bubbles said, ignoring their dark-haired sister. “You could always show up fashionably late.”

“Busy doing homework.”

“You two are freaks,” Buttercup said.

The doorbell rang, and the girls heard their father's hurried footsteps, making a mad dash for the door. Bubbles snatched her purse and jetted downstairs.

“Professor!” she scolded. “ _No!_ ”

Buttercup swung her legs over the edge of her bed and picked a hoodie off of her headboard. “Guess I'll head out, too.”

Blossom looked up. “Where? Are _you_ going to Homecoming?”

Buttercup scoffed and gave her leader an offended look as she unplugged her cell from its charger. “What? Please. I'm meeting up with the guys.”

“Well, go have fun.” A thought occurred to her, and she looked up. “Pranking's over, Buttercup!” Blossom called after her sister as she made her way downstairs. After a second's consideration, Blossom floated to their windows and glanced at the driveway. Bubbles and Boomer were making their getaway, while Buttercup left in a much more subdued manner. Robin, who was in her driveway next door, waved at the three of them.

Blossom opened up one of the windows, a motion that caught Robin's attention.

“Hey! Where's your dress?” Robin cried.

“I'm not going,” Blossom called back. “Where's Mike?”

There was a hint of a smile on her friend's face. “On his way. You know, Blossom, it's your senior year. You should go.”

Blossom pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I've got things to do.”

“Things that start with Math and end in Science?”

“Actually, they're ending in Econ.” At the look on her friend's face, Blossom said, “Don't worry, I'm fine.”

“It's a special night, Blossom!”

“You know, Buttercup's not going to Homecoming.”

“But she has _plans!_ You have... homework.”

“Thanks for worrying about me, Robin. I'm fine.” With a salute, Blossom shut herself back in her room, against the cries of protest resounding from her friend's yard.

“Sweetie,” a voice at the door said, and Blossom turned to find the Professor standing in the hall. “You know, if you change your mind, I can give you a ride.”

“Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?!” Blossom laughed in disbelief. “It's just a silly high school dance!”

“Well, Blossom, it's just...” The Professor leaned on the doorframe and looked around the girls' room before continuing. “It's just that you've always spent... a lot of time in the house. Studying and all.”

She crossed her arms and said dryly, “Would you rather I _didn't_ focus on my schoolwork?”

“And you've only ever been to two dances. Your freshman year, and your junior year.”

“Buttercup's only been to one—”

“Sweetheart,” the Professor interjected, striding into the room to grasp her gently by the shoulders, “I just don't want you to regret missing out on these things. I mean, you're gonna...” He swallowed, doing that dewy-eyed dad thing again. “You're going to be graduating... soon...”

Blossom sighed. “Oh, Professor—”

The home phone rang, and they both looked around for the receiver in the girls' room. Blossom found it buried under Bubbles' mattress and answered. It was for the Professor.

He groaned. “More trouble with the monster barrier,” he explained to Blossom after he hung up. “I gotta head downtown.”

She helped him gather up his stuff and, with no small amount of frustration, assured him she was fine staying at home alone on Homecoming night.

“I'm a big—” She cut off at the Professor's trembly lip, and amended, “I'll be fine. See you when you get back, Professor.”'

As he drove off, Blossom floated back upstairs. Her Physics assignment sat, ready and waiting, and she stared at it for a little bit before sighing and taking her pencil in hand.

***

Butch and Buttercup stared at Brick's Coil, “parked” carefully on the top of the hotel roof.

“It'd be awesome,” Buttercup said.

“It'd be _suicide_ ,” Butch responded. “He flew it up here so no one would mess with it. If we touched it—”

“We'd just be switching its spot, is all.”

Butch gave her a pointed look. “He'd _kill_ me.”

She crossed her arms. “Who claimed it was 'always worth it?'”

“I was talking about fighting then. This is _Brick's car_.” Butch started gesturing to himself. “He will cut me and peel off my skin and then let me bleed out to death through my _entire body_. He might even crucify me afterwards so my corpse can warn other people not to do crazy shit like _touch his car_.”

Buttercup shrugged. “Fine. If you're going to be such a pussy about it—”

A huge _boom_ shook the building, upsetting their balance. The Coil swayed slightly, and Buttercup looked to the coast, her brow knit with concern. She pulled out her phone and stared at it.

“You getting a call?” Butch asked.

“No,” she said, frowning. After awhile, she said, “I guess it's nothing serious. Otherwise someone would be calling.” She continued to stare at her phone.

“What the hell was that?” Butch said.

She shoved her cell back into her pocket and glanced at the coast one last time. “Beats me.”

***

“You haven't heard from MG yet, I take it?”

It took Brick a second to remember what Julie was talking about. He guided them around another couple as they swayed on the dance floor.

“Oh. _Modern Girl_. No, not yet.”

She pursed her lips in a manner Brick might have, at one point, found cute. “I wonder whose photos were featured. Next to yours, I mean. I hope mine were good enough.”

“You're not bad,” he said, and Julie snorted.

“Oh, is that supposed to be a compliment? I suppose I'd better take what I can get with you.”

Overall, the night had been going fine. It had started with a group dinner, followed by a mass exodus to the hotel hosting this year—again, courtesy of Mrs. Morbucks. And Julie was nice. She was funny. Kinda wholesome looking; there was nothing remotely smoldering or exotic about her looks. Pretty in a plain way, and a decent dancer. Socialized well. Knew her way around a canvas, and made respectable grades.

Brick had spent the entire night repeating this litany of justifications to himself. He was so over getting involved with—and in—other things. They were distracting. He was losing sight of the bigger picture. He had to focus on what he wanted and ignore everything else.

He spied Boomer with Bubbles' head on his shoulder a few feet away, the two of them lost in their own little world, and made a mental note to have a talk with Boomer about that.

“You know, Brick, I have to ask,” Julie said, pulling Brick out of his thoughts. She hesitated before continuing, staring at his collar instead of at his face. “Would you have asked me to Homecoming... even if you hadn't been fighting with Blossom?”

His body felt as if it had suddenly frozen from the inside out; even the air around him grew cold as he glared and said in a low snarl, “What's that supposed to mean?”

One drawback to Julie, Brick noted, was that she was virtually immune to his Scary Face. “I mean would you have asked me to Homecoming on your own? Ever? Would it have even crossed your mind if you hadn't been trying to get back at her?” Her lips went thin as she continued to work herself up. “I mean, I don't much appreciate being a prop for your—”

A sudden _boom_ rattled the ground, disrupting the music and upsetting the chandeliers. A few screams echoed in the room, followed by excited, nervous chatter. Boomer and Bubbles exchanged a glance, then looked at Brick.

“What was that?” Julie said, her anger momentarily forgotten as she gripped the lapels of Brick's jacket.

She crossed his mind, briefly, and he said, his voice firm and resolute, “Probably nothing.”

***

Blossom had felt the _boom_ all the way over in the suburbs, and she'd leaped up to look out the window just as the Hotline rang.

“Blossom here,” she said. “What's the trouble?”

“Blossom!” the Mayor sputtered. “It's all dark over here and I'm scared!”

There was a scuffle on the other end and then the Professor's voice came on the line, frantic. “Blossom?!”

Her heart shot into her throat; if it was the Professor it couldn't be good. “What's wrong?”

“The barrier's down! Completely! There was a _massive_ power surge and it's completely wiped out the power downtown! We can't get our equipment back online, and the backup generator _krzzz_ destroyed... _krzzz_ electromagnetic _krzz—_ ”

“Professor, I'm losing you,” Blossom said, trying to stay calm, but with the Professor as panicked as he was...

The lights started flickering, and she managed to make out “Mon—” before the line and lights went completely dead.

A roar echoed from outside, and Blossom dropped the phone and dashed out the window. The power looked to be knocked out for the entire neighborhood, and off in the distance she could see more lights flickering off, as if a cloud of darkness was passing over the city.

Another roar, from the downtown area, and a sudden urgency flared up in her as she thought of the Professor.

The smart thing to do was to get Bubbles and Buttercup, but as she sped downtown and tugged out her phone she discovered that, too, was dead. She frowned, but a scream jolted her out of her thoughts.

_I'll have to go get them later_. First she had to get as many folks to safety as possible. Then she would worry about her sisters.

As she dashed up to catch a woman who had just fallen out of a building, the monster who had disturbed it roared again.

“Alright, you—” Blossom started to snarl, but she was interrupted by a second roar from another monster, followed by a third from a third, and a fourth from a fourth...

The woman in her arms screamed as another four monsters appeared, and Blossom gaped as the panic that had arrested her senses multiplied tenfold.

***

At the distant sound of a roar Buttercup's head whipped around, searching.

Butch paused, the Coil raised above his head. “I guess something's up after all.”

She set down the car they were switching Brick's with and yanked out her phone. “That's impossible.”

Butch shifted the cargo in his hands. “What?”

“My phone's dead. I just charged it before I left—”

Suddenly a pink streak sailed through the side of the hotel, leaving a jagged hole that was roughly Blossom's size, followed by a flying, squid-like monster that went screaming into the roof, where Brick's car had been only a minute ago.

“Holy shit, that fucker is so lucky we moved his car,” Butch breathed.

Buttercup took off for the building, but a roar from behind stopped her, and she and Butch looked to see another two monsters bearing down the street.

She swore and shot off towards them instead as Butch set down Brick's car to join her.

***

_Something's coming_.

Brick felt it in every nerve in his body, and he pushed Julie aside as he stepped forward, looking around. It was something big. Something...

Blossom came crashing through the wall and in the span of a second Brick lifted his arms to catch her, then thought better of it and swiveled out of the way so the punch table could catch her instead. She jumped to her feet, dripping in foodstuffs and punch, then took in the crowd—especially the girls, with their beautiful dresses and done-up hair—and muttered under her breath, “Great.”

A bigger crash pulled everyone's attention, and they turned to see a giant squid smash through the wall, inspiring a new, protracted round of screaming and fleeing. Boomer was beginning to form a sword when Bubbles grabbed him and dragged him away, out into the lobby.

A slimy tentacle shot towards Brick, and he ducked. It rammed into Blossom instead, wrapped around her, and flung her to the other side of the room, where she went crashing into the wall.

Brick was already forming an energy beam in his hands.

_You're too involved_.

The tentacle flicked up and slammed her into another wall.

_You're losing sight of the bigger picture_.

Into the chandeliers.

_You have to focus on what you want and ignore everything else—_

Into the floor, where her head smacked against the floor and bounced—

Brick was moving toward her when she lifted her head, jaw set in grim determination, and blew, icing over the length of tentacle that ensnared her. She then kicked, breaking off shards, and as the monster screamed she threw the limp appendage away and eyebeamed it in the face.

It thrashed around and as it whipped its tentacles about the room, one of them smacked into an unlucky girl. She made a horrified, extremely pissed off noise—she'd gotten a suction cup in the face—and then made more frantic noises as the monster lifted her off the floor and began to fling her around.

Blossom gasped in horror and moved from trying to destroy the beast to trying to save the girl, who was thrown into Brick and sent them both towards the wall—perhaps a small comfort for her, but at a particularly unappealing price, as her face was covered in slime and she now reeked of fish.

“How is that thing retaining any moisture?” Brick wondered aloud as he flung the girl in his arms aside.

As if hearing him, the monster turned and charged. Brick's eyes flashed red, but before he could act Blossom rammed into it from behind, slamming its body to the floor. All of its remaining tentacles dashed up and coiled around her, then whacked her once more into the wall.

Her hair was a mess and her brow was beaded with sweat, but there wasn't a trace of weariness or fatigue in her face. There was only grim determination, making itself known in the tense jaw, the gritted teeth, the hard eyes...

The squid-like creature threw her back outside into the night sky and took off after her. Brick's legs moved of their own accord—one, two steps, and then he was in the air, the wind whipping around him and knocking the boutonnière off the lapel of his jacket.

***

“Bubbles!” Boomer cried. “What are you—”

“I have to change,” she explained, and he blinked.

“'Change?' You have to... are you _serious_ _?!_ ”

Bubbles only gripped his wrist harder as they sped back to her house. A roar sounded off in the distance, and Boomer glanced back.

He looked at her again and said, “Do you really think—”

She halted and glared at him, her gaze so sharp he could've sworn he'd been poked in the eyes with a needle.

“I know this is going to sound so stupid, and petty, and, and so, _so_ girly,” she said through gritted teeth, “but do you have _any_ idea how much I _spent_ on this dress?”

The question blindsided him, and he stared for a second before going, “Uh—”

“Not just money! The _time_ _!_ ” The wind ruffled her skirt as she took to flying again, dragging him with her. “All the shopping I did, all the dresses I tried on? The hairstyle I had to figure out to go with it? The _accessories and makeup?_ I am going home, and I am pulling on a pair of ratty old jeans, and this dress isn't going to see _one second_ of a monster fight because it is the result of weeks of shopping and a lot of indecisiveness and some artistic arranging and a good hunk of cash! I don't care how stupid it sounds! I am _not_ going to risk ruining it!”

***

Buttercup swung the dazed beast around a couple of times to gain momentum, then let go, flying up to watch it sail far into the distance, back into the ocean and probably well past Monster Island. Below her, the last few straggling civilians were heading east on foot and by car, away from the coast.

“One down,” she said to herself, then looked down at Butch, who was entertaining himself by shanking the other monster—limp on the ground—with what had once been a street lamp. She dashed down to the street and ripped the lamp out of his hands.

“Dude! It's not gonna get any deader!”

The twisty little grin was still on his face, and his eyes were sparkling. “But it feels so cool—”

A flying squid monster—or, at least what they assumed was a squid monster (it was missing all of its tentacles and its eyes had glassed over)—sailed over their heads and disappeared into the black night. Blossom flew up, smelling faintly of fish.

“Oh good, you're... here,” she said, recoiling a bit at the mess of the monster Butch had been attacking. “How many have you gotten?”

“Two, including this guy,” Buttercup said, indicating the dead monster in the street.

“Two for me, too,” Blossom said, looking up. “That leaves one more.”

“There's _another?_ ” Buttercup gaped.

“There's another?!” Butch lit up.

A huge, bone-quaking _THOOM_ echoed down the street, and the three of them exchanged a glance. A giant shadow passed over them, and they looked up. And up. And up.

“Whoa,” Buttercup and Butch whispered.

Blossom bit her lip, grim. “Yeeeeah.”

***

Brick saw it. It was _huge_. It towered over the tallest building, on two long, thin legs that didn't look capable of supporting it. Its skin was milky white and vaguely translucent, and it dragged its arms as it walked, its gait stilted and awkward. Where there should've been a face was only a gaping maw. As it approached, Brick felt the air buzzing with energy, and he looked back. Off in the distance, lights were shutting down—this thing was responsible for the power outages and dead phone lines. It was like a walking voltage spike.

Three streaks—one pink, two green—charged up and began blasting. The thing twitched briefly after each hit, but seemed mostly unfazed. It simply continued to move forward in its slow, methodical manner.

Brick landed in the empty street, staring. A flickering green shield appeared, then moved, the sharp edge of it slicing off an arm, and the thing pulled away and groaned. Sparks ghosted along its body, and it raised its other arm and fired a current of electricity at Butch.

His shield disappeared as there was a _pop_ , followed by a faint stream of smoke and a very audible _sizzle_ , and Brick watched as his brother's figure fell to the ground. Buttercup dashed down to catch him while Blossom circled it—in some kind of pattern, it looked like—and attempted to blast at the joint of its other limbs from behind.

A valiant effort that was rewarded by another surge of electricity, and then Blossom, too, fell.

Brick clenched and unclenched his fists. This wasn't really his business. If Butch wanted to get involved, that was _his_ deal. Brick didn't have to be a part of it just because they were brothers. And the girls... it wasn't like Brick had any real ties to them. And JS, Inc. had told them to keep a low profile...

_I shouldn't_ , he thought. _Even though I could_. Blossom and Butch rose into the air again, and he dimly registered Blossom barking an order. _This is not how it should be. Don't get involved. It's none of my business._

The monster continued to move forward, occasionally shooting at the girls and his brother with its one arm. For all that it was moving slowly, after having lost an arm, it was still remarkably quick to attack, shooting sparks at Butch every time he tried the shield thing again. Blossom flew down and blew, her ice breath frosting over the street and freezing the thing's feet to the ground. It swayed to keep its balance and shot at all of them again.

_What the fuck are you doing?!_ Brick's brain screamed at him, and he blinked as the scenery rushed past on either side of him. His feet pounded the pavement as he sped up the street, almost moving of their own accord, and as Blossom turned to see him approaching, her expression astonished, he kicked off the ground and landed a blow square in what would've been the monster's chest.

Its arc back towards the street was almost graceful and seemed to happen in slow motion. As it went down, its good arm swiped at Brick, who dodged it easily. Blossom was already freezing it before it had fully hit the ground.

As ice crackled over the very top of it, a green glint in the sky hurtled down to Earth, and Blossom, Brick, and Butch shielded their faces as Buttercup landed right in the monster's center. Shards of frozen monster exploded into the air, green light trailing after them. The shards embedded themselves in glass and concrete buildings; Butch had to throw up a shield while Brick and Blossom did the dodging dance again.

“ _Buttercup!_ ” Blossom scolded. “Watch it!”

“I watched it, alright,” Buttercup said as she dusted off her hands, smug. “Watched it go _PSHHHH_.” She indicated an explosion with her hands, smirking at her sister.

“That should fix the electrical interference,” Brick said, distracting Blossom from launching into a screaming match with Buttercup. “City will have to kick the power back on.”

“The plants are all on the west side of the city, by the coast,” Blossom explained. “The only people there right now would be our dad and his team.”

“Phone's still down.” Buttercup peered at her cell.

Brick pretended to not look at Blossom and said, “Well, yeah, someone's got to get everything back on line— _Butch!_ Put it down!” He made a threatening gesture at his brother, who had picked up a frozen monster shard. “Quit dicking around!”

“Buttercup and I will go tell the Professor,” Blossom said, voice firm. And then, with a touch of reluctance, she glanced at Brick.

He suddenly felt very silly to be standing there in a tuxedo.

“Um, thanks for all your—”

Something plowed into Brick, cutting Blossom off, and she gasped as he went skidding across the asphalt, fighting off what looked like a nasty mutated lizard the size of a lion.

“Holy fucking _shit!_ ” Butch exclaimed, and Blossom looked up to see another slew of monsters—far more than five, far more than ten, even—of every shape and size, running, flying, crawling, slithering towards them. A symphony of discordant, earsplitting monster cries reverberated in the air, drowning out the very audible sound of her gulp.

“ _Butch!_ ” she barked, making him jump. “ _Shield!_ ”

A solid wall of green slammed into the approaching monsters, who all snarled and began pounding against it.

_No time to panic_ , Blossom thought frantically to herself. _Think of a plan, think of a plan—_

“Butch, stay put! Buttercup and I will work on sending them back; you need to stay here and hold your shield!”

“ _What?!_ Oh, fuck that! No deal! I'm not playing defense!” he snapped, and suddenly a very pissed off Blossom was snarling in his face.

“Do not curse at me,” she growled. “For once, you are going to do _exactly_ as I say, unless you want to find out what your own kidneys taste like.”

A screech from above caught her attention, and she looked up to find a few of the flying monsters had flown up, over Butch's shield, and were now diving towards them. As she took flight to ward them off, Butch and Buttercup exchanged a glance.

_On the rag?_ Butch mouthed at his friend.

Buttercup made a _fuck-you_ face and took off to join her sister.

On the ground, Brick jammed his fist into the side of the thing on him and snapped its jaw before throwing its limp body aside. A solid green streak—Buttercup—crashed, creating a sizable crater in the middle of the road. The monster that had attacked her moved from its fallen opponent to Brick, who snarled and blasted its head off. He took to the skies as the monster's carcass fell and Buttercup began to rise out of the asphalt.

There were three other flying monsters that Blossom was handling remarkably well for being one person, superpowers or no, and as she grabbed the wings of two of them and slammed them into each other Brick made easy work of the third with his eyebeams. A shower of ash fluttered to the ground, and as for Blossom's, she ripped off the wings of each dazed creature.

There seemed to be a suspended moment of time where each one realized it could no longer fly, and then they fell, screaming, to the ground.

“Aw, you guys had all the fun without me,” Buttercup said with a pout as she flew up.

“Don't get yourself knocked out next time,” Brick quipped, and the dark-haired girl issued him a glare.

From below them, there was an “ _Oof!_ ” They all looked down to find one of the monsters Blossom felled had landed on Butch. There was a slight buzzing sound, and then the giant green shield that held back the rest of the monsters flickered off.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Brick and Buttercup intoned, and the three of them scattered, pulling back as the mass of things that clearly wanted to do the girls and the boys immense harm surged forth.

A burst of wind—colored bright blue, if wind bursts could have a color—blew past them, and Boomer, still suited for Homecoming, twirled the giant, sparking blue weapon in his hands and sliced it horizontally against the mass, cutting several of the larger monsters into several pieces. Those that were small enough to escape were met with a blue blast from Bubbles, and just like that, the majority of the monster onslaught was taken down.

Boomer turned and grinned at the group, brandishing what they could now see was a glowing blue scythe in his hands. “Neat, huh? I'd never even _thought_ of making one of these before!”

“Did you seriously go home to _change_ while monsters were attacking the city?” Blossom said reproachfully to her sister as Bubbles joined them.

Before the blonde could speak, Boomer cut in, his tone serious. “Do you have _any_ idea how much she spent on that dress?”

“You _fucks!_ ” Butch shouted as he flew up, covered in monster goo. “You leave me on the ground to hold a fucking wall and then you dump a shitload of _dead monsters_ on me?!”

“Watch the language,” Blossom said with a frown. The scythe in Boomer's hands disappeared, and he poked curiously at an eyeball on Butch's shoulder.

“There's still some left,” Bubbles assured him, pointing at the ground. Sure enough, a lucky few had survived Boomer and Bubbles' attack and were now snarling from below as they tried to swipe at the girls and the boys.

“There's still more coming.”

Everybody looked at Brick. He blinked, realizing the voice had come from him. It took him a second to process; he hadn't meant to speak, hadn't even been thinking the words. He had only been so overcome with a sudden knowledge that the night wasn't over—

The monstrous roars in the far distance almost seemed a punctuation mark to his statement. As they looked up to confirm with sight what they'd just heard, the only movement in that instant was Boomer, who reached out a hand, and Bubbles, who took it in hers.

Butch then broke the moment by saying, almost reverentially, “Dude. Homecoming beats the _shit_ out of Prom.”

***

Someone at the plants had managed to get the communication towers working again and the Professor had called Blossom to let her know that he was fine, that they were working on the monster barrier, and that she and the rest of the girls and boys should focus on getting whatever monsters they could out of Townsville. Which shouldn't have been too bad, except...

Blossom hadn't even known that Monster Island was capable of supporting all the things that were invading the city tonight. None of the friendly ones were present, either—all of the monsters making it in were vicious, snarling, angry things. And yet there was still something off about them... something odd...

She flung another one back out to the water; Butch and Buttercup were at the coast, the team's first line of defense. Bubbles, Brick, and Boomer were all in the center of the city, tracking down any monsters that had already infiltrated Townsville. Blossom herself was midway between the two groups to catch anything in between.

_Why are there so many?_

There was a sound, then, approaching rapidly, and she tensed and dove out of the way as Butch went flying by. Another huge, Godzilla-esque monster was on its way; she could see the flash of green surrounding it as Buttercup attempted to ward it off. With Butch and his shield down, Blossom dashed up to help her sister, who, true to character, was doing a fine job of royally pissing the giant thing off.

Before Blossom could even work in a punch or beam, the monster took a deep breath and issued a rancid, bone-quaking, sonic boom of a roar so powerful that it halted both girls in their tracks and sent them spiraling dazedly to the ground.

Blossom's brain was still buzzing as she sensed that immense shadow passing over her into the city, followed by a dozen smaller scurrying things. She pushed herself up out of the concrete and started blasting what she could, but then the buzzing in her head started up again...

No. It wasn't in her head. The monsters that had begun pouring in—those of them that she could see from here, about a couple hundred feet into the water—suddenly stopped, as if confronted with an invisible wall.

“They got it!” she cried in triumph to Buttercup, who groaned as she pushed herself up. “The Professor got the barrier back up!”

“Great,” Buttercup said, clearly over this whole night. “Now we just need to worry about all the fuckers that we still need to get _out_.”

“No need for cursing, Buttercup,” Blossom reprimanded. They both began chasing after the monsters and carried on with the blasting, flinging, and general violence. Once again, there was the nagging little thought in Blossom's head that there was something off tonight... something about the monsters and where they all were going...

Buttercup cut into her thoughts. “You know, for rampaging monsters, these guys aren't doing a lot of city-munching or destroying or... you know, _rampaging_.”

Blossom blinked at her sister. “You're right.” Even the first monsters Blossom had faced tonight had not seemed very focused on knocking over buildings or noshing on people. No... every monster tonight had just continued pushing forward, as if they were trying to get somewhere...

“Blossom, is it just me, or are all these guys headed in one direction?”

Buttercup was full of bright ideas tonight. Blossom put a stopper on the defense for a second and rose above the buildings, her eyes on the monsters that continued to move deeper into Townsville. She looked out over the city, where her eyes passed over one green streak a few blocks away, and then further back where there were two blue and one red swirling around the giant monster that had taken Blossom and Buttercup down. As she watched, the massive beast drew its arm back and swiped, catching the red streak and practically whacking it across town. Brick crashed into the side of a building and suddenly the slew of monsters moving into the city changed direction.

Her eyes widened as Buttercup called, “Did you see that?”

“Yes,” Blossom breathed.

“What are they after?”

Blossom's gaze darted back to the monster that had struck him. It was now moving away from Bubbles and Boomer, only swiping at them when they became too much of a nuisance. Like the monsters below her and Buttercup, it too was moving in one direction, after...

“Brick,” she whispered, a sudden panic gripping her, and she felt herself moving, flying of her own accord as the sound of every snarling monster in Townsville filled her head.

“Brick!” she screamed back at Buttercup. “They're after Brick!”

***

Stars in his eyes, and not the good kind. Brick groaned and pushed himself up, his head ringing. As he stood, concrete rubble cascaded down the front of his ruined suit. The ground rumbled, its vibrations unsettling the debris at his feet. A shadow passed over the buildings.

Brick squared his shoulders and tensed, at the ready.

“ _Brick!_ _Run!_ ”

His head jerked to see Blossom go shooting overhead, just as the giant monster rounded the corner and dozens more of every size poured into the street. Blossom swooped down, eyebeams ablaze as she landed hard on the asphalt in front of Brick.

Brick took to the air and followed suit, blasting into the horde of monsters from above.

“Brick!” Blossom cried from below him. “Seriously, run! Head towards the coast!”

“The hell I am! I'm not running!”

“ _I'm not joking!_ They're after _you!_ ”

Something rammed into him, sending Brick skidding away as he fought it off. Something in his shoulder twinged when he hit the ground _._

_Conserve your X,_ he thought, but he was also very, very pissed.

He made short work of the two that were on him and ten more charged in to meet him. The pink blasts further down the street now had various blue and green ones accompanying them; he could see it just beyond the sudden influx of clawed fists and rows of teeth and, in one case, slimy, goopy, green... something.

Brick's eyes flashed red, and the beam that followed seared several of the monsters into ash and several others into halves. The green goop was the only thing he had missed, and it plowed into his face, cutting off his Cyclops beams and trying to force its way into his mouth. Brick was instantly overwhelmed by the taste of salted gasoline made gelatinous, and retched as he fumbled desperately for a hold on it. He managed to get a grip and ripped it out of his mouth, then blasted it into oblivion. Once it was gone he buckled to his knees and heaved, spitting over and over to try and get the disgusting taste out of his mouth.

“ _Brick!_ ”

Blossom's voice again. Bubbles' might've been in there too, as well as Boomer's. He wasn't sure. The next thing he knew he'd been whacked by the giant monster yet again and the thing after that involved metal and his head and vague darkness with a hole of light in front of him and a bigger square-shaped hole of light to his right. He tried blinking himself into consciousness—but wait, he had to be conscious, or else he wouldn't be blinking...

_Wake up,_ this voice in his head said, or was it His, or just his? _Wake up, get up, keep fighting, move it you fucking idiot, don't let them take you down—_

Okay, definitely his. As he wobbled unsteadily on his feet and blinked over and over again, another voice joined in and asked gently, _Do you have a concussion_?

He staggered to the smaller hole of light—he'd been knocked into the side of a deserted moving van and had destroyed a very nice-looking couch. It still looked soft, though, and maybe after this was all over he'd come back here and take a nap on that one cushion that was still intact...

He heard Bubbles' trademark scream in the distance, and even from here it felt like it was stinging his brain; he covered his head and crouched, trying to fight off what he knew was an impending migraine.

Suddenly the floor of the van tipped underneath him, and as he lost his balance and toppled, the universe exploded into a galaxy of scaled arms all working towards a single purpose—intensifying Brick’s headache.

He heard blasting and snarling followed by more blasting and what sounded like a few well-placed kicks, then a sudden release of pressure from his torso. Things were happening too fast for him to keep up, at least not visually, but he maintained the presence of mind to return the favor when a slim pair of arms encircled him and held him fast.

For the first time that evening he hit the ground gently. Those arms released him, and he automatically tightened his grip to keep her from leaving. His brain was still suffering the effects of one too many hits to the head, but this was a comfort; he wanted her arms here, to stay...

He forced his eyes open, just a sliver, as a hand drifted across his face and touched his hairline. She was blurry and out of focus. Fuck his vision. He had the sudden horrific thought that without Chemical X he might have to wear _glasses._

“Brick,” Blossom said, and suddenly it was like someone had adjusted the focal distance of a camera. He blinked as he looked at her, his skin tingling where she touched it. A blinking neon sign flashed red, tinting her skin. “Are you okay?” Brick watched her lips form the words and tried to remember why he had not asked this girl to the dance.

A groaning noise from above them drew his attention, and he gasped her name as the neon sign that flickered behind her broke from its metal framing and plunged toward them. Blossom twisted to see, but he threw an arm around her, yanked her close, and then rolled on top of her as he blasted through the concrete.

Electric sparks fizzled behind them, the sound fading in the distance as they fell, and then they hit the floor of the underground and Brick blacked out.

***

The group was on the last of the monsters, mostly spreading out and seeking those they might have missed. Given his penchant for pugilism, Butch had gone off on his search with the primary objective being quantity, and had lucked out. The little herd of chest-high beasties that he'd discovered had a fondness for charging into a person's midsection at full speed with their very thick, very _hard_ domed skulls, and kept him sufficiently entertained.

In all honesty it hadn't been much of a fight, but the last of them did manage to plow into him, making his lungs extremely unhappy, and as he blasted it away he had to take a knee.

A bellow rang out right behind him, and before he could react it slammed into him, connecting with his back. The sudden explosion of pain in his knee was overwhelming; that one point had taken the brunt of the blow and he torpidly registered a grinding noise.

The pain had barely sunk in before another roar echoed above him, and he suddenly snapped awake and raised himself up—one of his legs didn't move as quickly as it should have, but he didn't think about it. He just shot to his feet, his energy beams building, at the ready—

The monster struck again, its massive, sledgehammer-like appendages connecting with Butch's raised fists. On any other day his beams would've been strong enough to knock it back, but he'd been fighting too long tonight. His muscles were weak and his body felt tired and—as he was soon quite painfully reminded—his knee was seriously fucked up.

His bad leg buckled beneath him at the blow and he went down. The _crunch_ his knee made seemed almost as loud as the scream that immediately tore its way out of his throat, and as Butch's knee ground grotesquely against the asphalt, the pain made itself known in every inch of his body, every anguished cry that was a gasp for breath, and he dropped to his other knee, his arms failing him, his sight failing him, everything was going black...

No, not black. Everything was going green. A blinding green light cut through the monster and split it into pieces, and then it was her figure in his field of vision, all he could see, all he could...

Butch's recognition of his own relief was barely present. His head swam as the whole length of the street, monster bits and all, stretched away from him into the distance—he saw it, there, the edges pulling taut—and then it was tilting on its axis, fast, as he fell to his side.

Hands, then—hands that had pummeled and blasted and destroyed things tonight, hands that were still steaming from the fresh kill, grasped him by the shoulders and stopped his fall.

Buttercup laid Butch down on the ground, face up, and asked frantically, “Butch, can you hear me?”

His eyes were already closing... he felt so sleepy, he hadn't even realized—

“ _Butch!_ ” She shook his shoulders, then slapped her hand lightly against his cheek, and he blinked. “Butch!”

He saw a bump on her head—man, it was ugly, all huge and swollen—and slurred through a sticky, thick mouth, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, you dumbfuck,” she snapped, her face tight with worry. Her gaze flew to the mangled knee of his jeans and, after a second, she placed her hands on his thigh (which, funny thing, woke him up a bit). With a low, faint beam coming out of her eyes, she cut across the denim, then down the middle to open up his pants leg and get a better look.

After a moment, she muttered, “You're good at fucking up this knee.”

He laughed. “You mean good at fucking up.”

“Smug ass,” she said. “It looks like you dislocated a bone.”

He lifted his head. “Yeah, don't think I'm supposed to have two knees on _one_ leg.”

  
“Saw it happen to a guy in football once,” she muttered, grimacing at the memory. “You tear, like, all your ligaments. Less of a problem with Chemical X, but it still won't heal correctly if you don't fix the dislocation.”

He groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Got a recommendation, doc?”

She rolled her eyes, and then her gaze drifted from his knee to his belt. She reached for the buckle.

“Whoa, hey.” Butch jerked back a bit and winced as the motion jostled his leg.

“Don't get any ideas.”

“Little late for that, you horny perv,” he sneered, earning a whack in the face.

When the last of the belt had slithered out of the loops, she folded it in half and brought it close to Butch's face.

“Open,” she ordered, nodding at his mouth, and placed the belt between his teeth. “Bite down.”

“Kinky,” he responded, but complied. Buttercup then nudged his good leg over, and Butch shifted uncomfortably as she took his thigh in one arm and his shin in the other. She smelled like sweat and monster guts, which sounded worse than it actually was. His hands clenched on the asphalt as he leaned back, his eyes on those versatile hands that had punched and blasted and slapped his cheek and taken off his belt, now resting against his leg.

“On three,” she said.

“On your mark,” he quipped, and she snorted.

“One,” she whispered, and then jerked.

Pain, suddenly, nothing but one blinding instant of terrible, terrible pain, and he gritted his teeth—so hard that they cut into the leather—and slammed his forehead into her back, biting back a scream. Maybe two.

“Oh, you bitch!” he seethed when he'd finally remembered how to speak. He blinked furiously, his eyes filling with tears. “Fuck! Fucking God damn ass hell mother _fucker!_ ”

She simply sat still, holding his leg in place while she waited for him to get the cussing and thrashing out of his system.

He spit the belt out. “I'm going to fucking kill you,” he whined as he started to settle down, the pain finally fading.

“Ha. I'd like to see you try.” She pulled away, and Butch felt a little sorry to lose the sensation of her body so close to his. She gently set his leg down, then sat cross-legged in front of him, picking up the belt and examining the bite mark now decorating it. After a pause, she, too, bit the leather.

“Weird ass,” Butch said.

Buttercup was busy examining the belt. “Look, man, your jaw's _huge_. My mark looks like a baby's compared to yours.”

She passed the belt to Butch, who glanced at it. He then lowered it to his crotch. “Yours looks about the right size to me—”

Her fist slammed into his messed up knee, and he howled in pain.

“You fucking piece of shit!” he hissed, his eyes tearing up.

“Like you didn't deserve that!”

“Fuck you,” he squeaked as his top half rocked back and forth.

“You wish,” she scoffed, and he glared at her.

They sat in silence, staring each other down as the throbbing in Butch's knee subsided. The screech of a flying monster in the distance caught their attention, and they both looked over to see a bright blue streak—Boomer—fly up and form a double-necked bass to whack it away.

“How Fooly Cooly of him,” Buttercup said.

“You nerd.”

“I dressed up like that kid for Halloween one year,” she said, and then jerked to. “Holy shit! Halloween! We got so wrapped up with pranks... we haven't even _talked_ about costumes with the guys!”

“Dude, you're right. It's like—ugh.” Butch winced as his knee twinged from the healing process. “It's like next week!”

“Oh, man, I can't believe I forgot. There's, like, barely any time—”

“Well, what've you done before?”

Buttercup lifted her head, biting her lip in thought, and Butch stared at her mouth as she said, “I told you we did _The Ring_ one year, yeah?”

He continued to stare, then blinked and said, “Uh, yeah.”

“And then there was the year we all went as employees from rival fast food joints...”

Butch laughed. “What?”

“It was awesome, we staged fights in the parking lots of all those restaurants,” she elaborated, grinning at the memory. “Um, we also did horror movie villains one year. Classic horror. Harry was Jason, the twins were the dudes from _Clockwork Orange_ —I dunno their names, I haven't seen it—Mitch was a life-size Chucky, and that was fucking creepy, man. I ought to show you some pictures—”

“Who were you?” he interrupted, and Buttercup's eyes glittered as she smirked.

“Freddy fucking Krueger,” she laughed, mimicking the sound of a clacking claw as she raised her hand to her face.

“ _Niiiiice_. Bet the kids went for that.”

“Oh my _God_ , you've no idea. I stepped out of my house in broad daylight and kids started running around screaming. Parents wouldn't let me near their neighborhoods since none of the kids would go trick-or-treating if I was there. They weren't big fans of giant Chucky, either.”

Butch smirked. “Anybody try to throw you in the school furnace?”

“I'd like to see 'em try, on Freddy Krueger with superpowers,” Buttercup snickered. “I got Bubbles, too. After I got back home. She was already asleep. I just stood over her in the dark with my costume still on, and she woke up and _freaked_. Girl wouldn't sleep in the same room as me for a week.”

“A true work of art,” Butch said, inclining his head in deference.

Buttercup sighed. “I know.” A quiet moment passed before she said softly, “So we gotta come up with something good for this year.”

“Hey! You guys okay?”

Butch and Buttercup looked up to find Bubbles and Boomer floating down. They took in the sheared leg of Butch's jeans.

“Dude, what's wrong with your leg?” Boomer asked, kneeling down.

Butch pointed to his thigh with one hand and his shin with the other. “This part and this part went like _this_.” He jerked his arms in opposite directions, and Bubbles and Boomer winced.

“Yikes,” Boomer said.

“Gross,” Bubbles whimpered.

“We fixed the dislocation. It's just healing now,” Buttercup assured them. “Where's Team Red?”

Bubbles looked worried. “We haven't seen Brick and Blossom for awhile now. We thought you'd know where they went.”

“Didja get all the monsters?” Butch asked.

“As far as we can tell.” Boomer looked around, slight concern touching his features.

Butch sighed. “Quit crying. It's not like him to get lost. Besides, that fucker can take care of himself—”

A very faint, distant cry that could only be picked up by those with superhearing interrupted them, and they all whipped their heads in the direction it'd come from. Buttercup jumped to her feet.

Bubbles' eyes were wide with fear. “That sounded like—”

“ _Blossom!_ ” cried an equally faint, distant Brick, and Buttercup swore, and Bubbles gasped, before both of them took off.

“Wait!” Boomer shouted as he took off after them.

“Oh, you fuckers,” Butch grumbled as he stood. “Leaving me here alo—agh, _fuck_ ,” he seethed, his bad leg twitching. It wasn't done healing; probably only about halfway. He bit his lip and held it stiffly away from him, trying not to move it around too much as he flew awkwardly after his brother and the girls.

“You guys all continue to suck!” Butch announced as he flew up. “You're the Hardcore Suck variety of people! All of you!”

“Shut up, gimp,” Buttercup ordered, and resumed working on the pile of rubble they were gathered around. It seemed to be supporting the building next to it, which was tilting at a very precarious angle.

“How do you know they're in there?”

“Here.” Boomer tossed him Brick's cap, covered in building dust. “Hedging our bets. Can't be far.”

Butch stared at the cap for a second, then crushed it into his back pocket. “Why don't you guys just blast it open?”

“We don't want the whole thing to cave in,” Bubbles said. Patiently, as if she was speaking to a small child. “There's that whole minimizing damage thing—”

“Oh, shit, we sucked at that tonight,” Boomer said.

Buttercup groaned as she jerked out a particularly stubborn piece of building, inspiring a low quaking and rumbling. The entire pile of debris started to shift, as did the building leaning on it.

She looked guiltily at the rest of the group. “Uh, oops—”

Suddenly the whole thing crumbled underneath them, and Buttercup, Boomer, and Bubbles all went toppling into the hole. The building that had been leaning on the pile began to follow after them, and Butch swore as he flew up under it and stopped its fall. His leg made it known that it was very, very unhappy at the sudden movement, and the pain in it started to grow as the X in his system was re-directed to help support the building...

The world started to darken around him, and Butch was worried he was passing out until he realized no, he was just fighting a building and the building was winning—the weight of it was forcing him down into the hole. He gritted his teeth and tried to push, but his knee protested—quite effectively—and he had to let it go. The building closed him into darkness; at the very least he'd managed to slow its descent enough so that it hadn't crumbled along with the pile.

He turned, and suddenly found himself sitting on a fence in broad daylight, Buttercup at his back.

He stared.

“What the f—”

***

Boomer blinked his eyes open and found himself underwater.

_Oh_ , he thought. _This again_.

***

Brick stood at the edge of a swimming pool, not quite remembering how he'd gotten there. The underwater lights threw eerie blue tones against the stadium walls and the sterile smell of chlorine burned. He cleared his throat.

His gaze traversed the space, nerves on end. His vision told him he was alone, but he knew better.

Something was painted on one of the walls running the length of the pool, but he couldn't quite read it. He squinted, and, after a moment, walked to the opposite side of the stadium to face it. There, it finally came into focus.

_THIS IS YOURS NOW_ , he read. He looked down.

Water overflowed from the pool onto the tile, up to the walls, and rushed up to meet him.

***

“Where did you come from?”

Bubbles and Buttercup sighed in relief at their sister's voice. Bubbles ran up to her and wrapped her in a hug.

“Oh, good,” Buttercup said. “You're okay. Where's Brick?”

“He was here a second ago.”

Bubbles looked around. “Where are all the boys, actually?”

“This looks familiar,” Blossom said, her eyes trained on the indeterminate shapes that made their non-environment. It was a mess of color and nonsensical geometry. There was no finite edge to the space, which looked to be inches from their faces at one moment and extending hundreds of feet away in the next. “Unfortunately.”

Buttercup's shoulders tensed. “Shit. He's here?”

“I don't think so,” Bubbles said, shaking her feet off as she stepped out of a puddle. “It feels very... I don't know. Something. But it isn't Him.”

Blossom, driven by the invisible hand of instinct, backed towards her sisters as their environment coalesced into a massive, pulsating swirl surrounding them. Half-formed silhouettes following the spiral track seemed to balloon out, then retreat. But maybe that was a trick of the eyes. She sensed Bubbles and Buttercup backing towards her as well, and within moments they had all met in the middle, back-to-back-to-back.

“Well, if Him's not around, what the hell are we here for?”

“Good question,” Blossom said.

“Lonely.”

Blossom turned her head towards Bubbles. “What's that?”

Bubbles' arms snaked through her sisters', hooking them and pulling them closer to her.

“That's what it feels like here,” she said, those big blue eyes wide and downcast. “It's so lonely.”

“Shut up,” Buttercup said, scoffing. But Blossom felt her squeeze back, all the same.

***

Brick needed air.

Well, everyone needed air. Every _thing_ needed air. But Brick needed it a great deal, in this moment, specifically.

Water crushed him in from all sides, and he fought against it, pushing his limbs through it to swim up.

_What am I doing_? he thought, and then, _Being a fucking idiot._

He shot an eyebeam and it seared through the water, a white jet of bubbles steaming in its wake. But where he expected it to illuminate the stadium and cut through the nearest wall, it kept going, revealing nothing but the murky depths of the water. It disappeared all too quickly into a tiny pinprick of red, and then that was gone, too.

Brick needed air.

_Well_ , he thought, and then, _Fuck_.

***

“Hey.”

She didn't respond. Butch watched the back of Buttercup's head for a second, then looked over her shoulder to try and see what held her attention.

***

Boomer looked up and saw her, just beyond the surface. When he opened his mouth and said her name, the water took it from him, muffling it before it could reach her.

Her figure was only a smear of color through the water, and he watched as it turned away.

_Wait_.

He kicked off the bottom and swam.

***

“Do you hear that?”

Blossom and Bubbles looked over their respective shoulders at Buttercup, arms still linked together.

They stood in silence for a second, straining to pick out a sound through the low hum permeating the air. Blossom looked over at Bubbles, who shook her head.

“Hear what?” Blossom asked.

Buttercup's head turned this way and that. Her grip on her sisters loosened.

***

_Wait_.

Boomer shot through the water, trying to reach her before she disappeared. His hands broke the surface, the air cold and almost painful against his skin, but he reached and closed them around her leg and he did not let go.

***

Brick could see the tell-tale reflections of light bouncing off the top of a body of water, and the pain in his lungs multiplied.

_Almost there—_

Something closed around his leg just before his hand could break the surface and dragged him back.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me_.

***

Butch watched, dumbfounded as Brick hoisted himself up onto the fence, facing Buttercup, and moved in to kiss her.

A possessive heat shot through his blood and he felt his heart go into overdrive, its pounding reverberating in his head.

***

“Am I crazy?” Buttercup asked, her voice going a little frantic. That sound was deafening. “Why can't you hear that?”

***

Brick only saw darkness when he looked down to try and identify his attacker, but quickly realized there were more pressing issues at hand. Air first. Then he would reach back in and tear the fucker limb from limb.

He kicked against the unseen assailant and managed to pull away, his hand breaking the surface. It brushed something, and he grabbed onto it, a literal lifeline.

***

He didn't kiss her, though. Butch's anger gave way to confusion as Brick moved _through_ Buttercup, his face, his head, his body passing through her as if she were nothing but a ghost. He pulled close to Butch and Butch instantly pulled back.

His leader lifted a hand and pushed it into Butch's chest, like there wasn't skin there, like there wasn't a sternum or a ribcage or shit like muscle and tissue in the way.

He didn't feel anything. Then—

***

Brick grabbed onto it and pulled.

***

Butch jerked back, biting down a scream. His hands flew to Brick's wrist, slick with the blood that was suddenly gushing out of his chest, and then he overbalanced and toppled backwards. Everything stretched away from him into the distance, his world pulling taut at the edges as it tipped on its axis and he fell.

_Déjà vu,_ he thought, and waited for Buttercup to catch him.

But then the pain seared down his torso, to his belly, and he snapped to and grabbed onto Brick's arm with what little strength he could muster. Though Butch was falling, or had been falling, or was maybe about to fall, who-the-fuck-knew, Brick's hand had not budged; as Butch's body had pulled downwards, away from his brother, the hand in his chest moved, splitting a bloody line down his torso until Butch had grabbed on and stopped it himself.

He dangled upside down in the darkness, uncomprehending. The blood in his head was pounding while the rest of it just seemed to be pouring down his face.

Dimly, past the throbbing in his brain that, along with his consciousness, was ebbing by the second, he thought he heard the words “ _Get up_.”

At first he thought Brick had said them. But when he played it back in his head, he thought it might have been Buttercup, and the very idea wrenched him. He couldn't see, everything was dark. He didn't even have the energy to lift his head and look Brick in the eye.

Then again, maybe the voice had been Butch himself.

He thought he would test this theory, and opened his mouth, trying to form the words.

Instead, he screamed.

***

The girls jumped.

Bubbles said, “That sounded like—”

Buttercup tore away from her sisters and shot off into the unknown, shouting Butch's name.

***

Brick hit the cold surface hard, water pouring out of his throat as he coughed, trying to breathe. Whatever had grabbed him was still clinging to his legs, and he let go of whatever he had used to pull himself out to give himself more leverage to kick it away. He kicked once, then paused when he saw what—or who—it was.

He tried to say Boomer's name, but all that came out of him was more coughing. Boomer was slowly coming to, his death-grip on Brick's leg nearly cutting off its circulation.

_What the..._

Brick watched a dazed Boomer's chest rise and fall normally, unlabored despite having come out of the water too. He coughed again and pushed his sopping hair out of his eyes, then froze at the smell on his hand.

Smelled like metal. But metal didn't have a smell; that was a myth. Which meant...

He pulled his hand away and stared at it. The blood ran down his arm, thinning into a vague pink as it mixed with the water. He turned his hand over and over again, looking for a cut. Nothing.

_Whose blood is this_?

Deep dread welled in the pit of his stomach.

He looked down. Somewhere behind him, he heard a popping sound.

***

“ _Butch!_ ” Buttercup shouted, her sisters' voices echoing her own. The endless landscape rushed past them for what must have been miles, but now Buttercup saw it all resolving into one dark, purposeful point on the horizon. She surged forward, rushing to meet it, but then she felt the wind change direction and she gasped, coming to a halt in front of a spiral that twisted and sucked the entirety of their surroundings into itself.

She landed hard on whatever passed for the ground in this place and braced her legs against the pull. Blossom had been flying too close to her, and at the abrupt stop their shoulders collided, throwing off Blossom's momentum, and she tumbled past Buttercup before she had a chance to steady herself.

Buttercup grabbed her sister's arm, her feet lifting off the ground, then felt Bubbles' arms fly around her waist, anchoring them both.

“ _Fly!_ ” Buttercup shouted at them, and they fought against the current that sucked them forward. The pinprick of darkness swirling at the spiral's epicenter beckoned to her, and she shut her eyes against it and pulled.

_That idiot better not fucking be in there_ , she thought.

A sudden pop, and the three of them pitched backwards, yelping as they hit the ground.

“Ugh, my head,” Blossom muttered.

“Ow, my boobs,” Bubbles squeaked. “Buttercup, please move your elbow.”

“Sorry.” Buttercup lifted straight off, careful not to put any weight on Bubbles, who'd been kind enough to break her fall. She blinked, a little dazed, then remembered who they'd been looking for.

“ _Butch!_ ” she shouted, scanning the area.

A familiar line of buildings edged into the sky, visible above the dark pit they were now in, and the moon greeted them, hovering just behind the flag that billowed atop the dome of Townsville Hall. Normalcy. No chaos, no wind, no swirl, no literal vanishing point that sucked everything around it into nothingness. Instead, her eyes fell on... on...

Everything stretched away from her into the distance. The world pulled taut at the edges as it tipped on its axis.

“Bubbles?”

Buttercup heard Bubbles shift behind her. When her sister said, “Boomer?” she sounded very far away.

Every vein in her body seemed to be pulsating and it felt like the blood was all rushing to her throat. She couldn't tell at this distance. She couldn't tell what was shadow and what was deep red, what was moonlight and what was bone. He was just laying there. She had to get closer to tell, but her legs, her legs...

There was motion and sound behind her—urgent, purposeful. Her sisters rushed past her on either side, towards the boys. Buttercup's blood was screaming as it coursed through her.

Quicker, faster.

_Move_.

There was a flash of blue as Bubbles took off, sailing out of the pit. Blossom was urging Boomer to shuck his jacket, then pulled a motionless Brick aside, away from the rest of them. The shadow he threw on Butch shifted, and the moon, already casting an eerie pallor over them all, illuminated him. Deep red and bright white in the moonlight. Her breath left her.

_Move!_

Her legs, her useless fucking legs finally followed orders. She stepped forward and the world wobbled in slow motion around her, but she pressed on, one foot in front of the other, and the entire way she couldn't help but think about how they'd just been talking, just this night, about the same stupid shit, and doing the same stupid stuff they always did, but now if she said his name...

One foot in front of the other, until she stood over him.

_Butch_.

She felt her mouth form the word, but heard nothing.

Her knees hit the ground and the pool of blood that circled him seeped into her jeans as she fumbled for his face. She didn't know what to do about the gaping cavity in his abdomen, that giant wound that pulled open and looked liked something out of a horror movie, a thing she couldn't bear to look at.

_Butch_ , she mouthed, or maybe said. She tried to wipe the blood away from his face but only succeeded in smearing it, his half-lidded expression a catalyst that sent her spiraling.

_Butch. Butch. Butch._

Was he breathing? How could she tell? She could barely feel anything, much less a puff of warm air past his slack mouth. Everything felt cold and wet, or seemed cold and wet, and the blood inside her was pounding, pumping, screaming—

“Buttercup! Calm down!”

_I should've told him to stay put. The fucking idiot. I should've told him not to budge—_

“Buttercup!”

_I'm an idiot. I can't believe I was so stupid_. _Stupid_.

“ _Buttercup!_ ”

_I should've told him. Fucking idiot_.

***

The second Butch's eyes fluttered open, Buttercup was at his side, biting back a string of apologies. The Professor had told her to give him time when he woke up. She watched as those dark green eyes—the pupils slightly dilated—drifted slowly around the lab, finally taking in the cot he was lying on before looking at her.

Buttercup bit her lip and managed a thin smile. “Hi.”

He twitched the corners of his own lips back. “Hi.”

She swallowed, trying not to dwell on how faint his voice sounded. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a puny normal human.” His eyes flicked back around the room, a little quicker now. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Our place. I mean, mine. This is the Professor's lab.” Buttercup glanced at his hand, limp against the cot bed.

“What am I doing here?”

“You don't remember?”

Butch stared at her for a long time, his brow furrowed, then finally shook his head. “No.”

A long silence passed. Buttercup looked away from his eyes, still staring, and back at his hand on the bed. It twitched, then attempted to reach for her. The movement was weak, though, and his hand shook a little, so he dropped it where it was.

“Jesus, what the fuck happened?” he asked. “You look... you look really sad.”

She forced a laugh and swept her hair out of her face. “Augh. I just... um...”

“What happened?”

“Um...” Buttercup swallowed. “Well. We. Um. We don't know what happened. We weren't all together. But... when we found you, you'd been... cut open.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Big cut? Bad cut?”

“Y-yeah.” Her vision clouded and she blinked furiously until it cleared again, hoping he hadn't noticed.

“Where? Can I see?”

She almost laughed at his vague enthusiasm. She helped ease the back of the bed up slightly so he could see, and then lifted his shirt.

“Oh, hey, I didn't even notice this wasn't mine,” he said, stretching the fabric out to get a better look at it.

“Yeah, your other one...” Buttercup trailed off and didn't finish. His blood-drenched shreds of a shirt were in a bag in the corner, and she would've burned them if there hadn't been a part of her that thought Butch might want to keep them.

Butch paused when he saw his stomach and lower chest. “Holy shit.”

Buttercup sucked her lips in between her teeth and bit hard to keep them from trembling. Butch's hands skimmed along the pink line. Pink, where only a few hours ago it'd been a deep, gut-wrenching red. Buttercup blinked the image in her head away and cleared her throat, reaching a hand to touch the top of the scar. He paused.

“Here to here,” she said quietly, moving her hand from top to bottom. “I mean, I guess you can see it.”

“Who worked on me? Your dad?”

“Not—well, kind of. We have this doctor we call for when things get bad. The Professor was here to monitor the levels of X in your system while they were... you know, operating. That's why you're here.”

“I kinda remember stuff,” he said. “Now. I mean, not getting stitched up, obviously. But I kinda remember it hurting. A lot, actually. Wait, did I scream like a pussy?”

She shut her eyes, her throat raw. “No.”

“No, I remember screaming. Shit, I totally did. Oh, man, what'll that do to my—Buttercup? Hey. Hey!”

Buttercup's eyes flew open to find her vision completely warped.

“Oh, fuck!” she moaned, her breath hitching as she inhaled. She felt Butch's hand at her arm and pulled away, flying behind the cot to the Professor's desk.

“Buttercup!”

She fumbled for a box of tissues and scrubbed the tears away, sniffling. The memories were overtaking her senses now; she could still hear his scream, still feel his body cold in her shaking arms—

“What are you doing?” The cot groaned as Butch tried to twist around to see, and then he cursed under his breath.

“Oh my God, stop moving, dumbass! You're really hurt!”

“Then quit hiding!”

“I'm not hiding!”

“I'm laying here dying on a table—”

“ _You're not dying!_ ”

“—which means you're obligated to do what I say and I say get your ass back over here or I promise you I am going to die on this table. I will do it. I will die so hard.”

The last wave of tears was subsiding. She deepened her breathing, trying not to squeak or hiccup when her breath caught.

Finally, she said, “That's a cot, not a table.”

“Whatever.”

“And you can't make yourself die by sheer force of will.”

“Get over here and watch me.”

She sighed and walked back to his side, rubbing at her eyes one last time for good measure. She tried to glare at him, and he was obviously trying to glare at her, but neither of their eyes held an ounce of anger in them. Buttercup humored him for a second or two while he stared intently into the distance.

“Yeah. That's some pretty hardcore dying you're doing there.”

“Ha. Oh, ugh,” he suddenly groaned, passing a hand over his bare stomach. “Something doesn't feel right in there.”

“You mean you need to use the bathroom?”

“I mean I feel like an organ's out of place.”

“Serves you right, twisting around like that.”

“You ran back there where I couldn't see you. It's your fault.”

She stared at him and the scar on his midsection. She then tugged his shirt back down over his skin and said, “I know. I'm sorry.”

One of her hands alighted gingerly on his stomach, inspiring a sharp intake of breath from him. She jerked it away.

“Oh shit, did that hurt? I'm sorry.”

“No, it...” Butch's arm flopped uselessly at her. “It didn't hurt. Just...” His arm stopped flopping, and he sighed. “Fuck, I'm tired.”

Buttercup eased the cot back down. “Go to sleep.”

“Have you been here? The whole time?”

“My dad wouldn't let me stay while they were... checking to make sure everything was there and sewing you up. He let me back in afterward.”

“But after that?”

“Yeah.” She traced the edge of the cot with her hand, reluctant to leave. His own hand suddenly wandered over and touched her wrist, and she halted.

“Does your dad keep security cameras in the lab?”

She looked around. “None that I know about.”

He exhaled in relief. “Come... come here.” He started to move over, struggling a bit, and Buttercup gaped at him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making space,” he groaned.

“You're shitting me. No.” She started to tug her hand away.

“I don't want you to leave yet,” he said. “And you're not gonna sleep in that chair very comfortably, so... shut the fuck up and come here.”

Her skin was buzzing where he was touching her. She relented.

“Don't get fresh with me,” she warned, floating up so she could ease herself next to him.

He gave her a look. “Moving over just now felt like fighting a fucking bear. Do you seriously think I'm going to try anything?”

She didn't say anything. As soon as she was lying next to him, though, he gestured wildly at her chest and said, “Oh my God! Boobs!”

A second later he was moaning, “Owwwww,” and rubbing at his freshly smacked face. “See, that's the other thing,” he explained. “Like you wouldn't be able to fuck me up if I tried something while I'm like this.”

She scoffed. “Like I wouldn't be able to fuck you up on any given day of the week.” The cot was small and their sides were almost completely touching. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, and she spit her hair out of her face.

“You bitch, don't spit on me.”

“It's not you. It's my hair.”

He reached over and pushed it out of her face. She tensed as his hand brushed against her temple.

“Better?”

She wasn't sure. “Yeah.”

“You know it ain't your fault what happened to me.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “It was a little.”

“Don't be a dumbfuck.”

“I should've told you to stay put.”

“If you'd said that and expected me to listen to you, then you would've been a _serious_ dumbfuck.”

She laughed weakly. “I guess you have a point.”

“There's a penis joke in there somewhere.”

“Don't push it.”

“There, too.”

“ _Butch_.”

“Sorry.” His cheek was in her hair, a little. He turned his head into it and she let him stay there for a bit. The back of her hand touched his. His breathing was slowing, and her own eyes were heavy-lidded, and after the night they'd had even the thin, too-small cot felt easy to fall asleep in.

“Butch,” she whispered, stifling a yawn.

“Hm,” he grunted.

Her hand brushed against his. “I'm really glad you're okay.”

Suddenly his arm wove clumsily around hers, and then he took hold of her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Me too,” he murmured, and even though her skin went clammy where it touched his she didn't pull away from him.

“By the way, that thing that happened earlier didn't happen.”

“What thing? That you crying thing?”

“Didn't happen.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about,” he sighed, a slight grin pulling onto his face.

She smiled and closed her eyes.

***

Blossom awoke when the morning was still dim and gray after a fitful sleep. After a few minutes of trying to get back to it, she gave up and rose reluctantly out of bed. The clock said it was only a little past six.

She floated to her dresser, shivering a bit as she dug for a sweatshirt to pull over herself. She did not appreciate having to plow through several layers of Bubbles' clothes just to get to _her_ stuff. Bubbles was going to get a stern talking to later. This wasn't even her dresser.

The drawer threatened to slam as she pushed it back; she caught it and gently eased it back into the dresser frame. As she did so she glanced over at the vanity, pausing when she saw her tousled hair and dark-ringed eyes. It wasn't her best, but still an improvement over the image she'd seen last night.

The quiet creak of the front door drew her attention, followed by steps outside, and she flew to the window just in time to see Butch taking off. He was up and walking. Good. Leaving, though? Before the rest of the house had woken up? He should've stayed to let the Professor check in on him.

It occurred to Blossom that that very thought might have indeed crossed Butch's mind and inspired him to leave in the first place.

She glanced at Buttercup's bed. Empty. She hadn't even noticed. She dashed downstairs, adjusting the thermostat as she did so—seriously, it was like the Professor was storing meat in the living room or something—and then to the lab, where she peeked in and found Buttercup curled up on the cot.

After a brief mental struggle with the alarms going off in her head, Blossom decided not to dwell on it and continued about her morning routine.

***

“Don't pretend like you've never wanted to do it.”

Brick stalked to the end of the bed he'd awoken in and snatched at his hospital charts. He was too angry for the data to make any sense to him, so he tossed them back.

An ill-subdued, sinister laugh punctuated Him's statement. Brick continued to ignore Him as he searched for his hat.

“Here.” Him suddenly presented it, dangling from a claw. Brick stared at it a moment before grabbing it and fitting it roughly onto his head.

“Careful. You suffered a concussion, after all.”

Still Brick did not look at Him. Instead he turned his eyes to the slim window of his hospital room to check if anyone was coming, then zipped to the window that looked out into the world. Dim, pre-dawn light cast an eerie, almost dead glow over the city.

“I mean, you consider yourself _sooo_ much better than the average human being. And sure, you fly, you've superstrength, you can get all blasty...” Him sighed as Brick slid the window open, letting in the cold morning chill. “But mentally, you've still got a ways to go.”

Brick flew out. It was chilly, and he wasn't wearing much—just his Homecoming tux, without the jacket—but the silence was bliss.

Him floated up beside him, making short work of the brief peace Brick had found. “Someone who's _really_ striving to be better than your average human being needs to be strong of mind, not just of body.” The way it was coming out of Him's mouth sounded less like advice and more like a taunt. “He never really listens to you, anyway. He always has it coming, doesn't he? You always need to whip him into shape. Teach him a lesson.”

_Roughing him up is_ not _the same as attempting to disembowel him_ , Brick thought, but Him's words troubled him nonetheless.

“Eventually he'll need to be made an example of. Possibly. Better that he finds out from you, rather than at someone else's hand, right?”

Brick's patience for the silent treatment never lasted long. “So this was supposed to be a life lesson? Are you actually _parenting_ now?”

“No need to get nasty. _You_ were the one who fell into a vortex.”

“I—” Brick stopped, and, against his better judgment, reacted. “'A vortex?' You put a _vortex_ there to teach me a _lesson_?!”

“Not to teach a lesson,” Him corrected. “It's been there for years. I got bored. Eternity is boring, Brick. How was _I_ to anticipate you'd fall in?”

Brick scoffed in disgust. “No wonder we're so fucked up.”

“I said there's no need to get nasty, Brick.”

“Leave. It isn't enough to ruin my evening with your stupid vortex and that dumb slew of monsters, now you—”

“ _I am not responsible for that pitiful excuse of a rampaging monster horde_!” Him snarled, then settled back into His lilting speech pattern. “I'm almost insulted. Surely you think me more creative than that?”

“This, from the vortex guy.”

A claw snapped around his wrist and Him jerked Brick around.

“Hey!”

Even as Brick struggled Him snipped off the button at the wrist of his tuxedo shirt without the slightest effort, then held it close to Brick's face.

Not just a button. A tiny... chip, a device of some sort, with a small crack running down the middle. Brick stopped struggling.

“Why don't you go have a chat with your rich, older woman?” Him seethed, bringing Brick's arm down so he could mash the button into his hand. “Let's give credit where credit's due.”

Brick stared at the thing in his hand, his brow furrowed. When he looked up again, Him was gone. Of course. He dashed back home, letting himself in through the window to his room. He didn't remember how well he'd slept at the hospital, but it couldn't have been very well at all, considering how much the mere sight of his bed made him want to curl under the sheets and nap forever. He placed the button gingerly on his desk, then started to strip down, pausing when his gaze hit the rust-colored stains on his sleeve. With a grimace, he threw it into the trash.

He heard the front door open and went to investigate. Boomer was asleep on the couch in the living room, while a shadow spilled across the open door of the bathroom he shared with Butch. Brick flew up, pausing in the doorframe. Butch had taken off his shirt and was staring at his reflection as he traced the barely visible lines of pink on his skin. He spied his brother in the mirror and turned.

“Hey.”

It shouldn't have felt weird to see him up and walking about, but Brick felt weird nonetheless. The last time he'd seen his brother, Butch had been closer to a corpse than a living thing. And the one to blame was...

Butch nodded at the couch. “He been there the whole night?”

Brick looked back at Boomer. “I dunno. I guess. I was at the hospital.”

Butch snorted and turned back to the mirror, examining his soon-to-be-gone scars. “Is that right? What was wrong with you?”

“A... concussion.” It sounded like a pitiful excuse to be in the hospital, considering the guy he was saying it to had been all but torn apart.

“You okay?” Brick couldn't tell from Butch's tone whether he was asking out of genuine concern or challenging Brick's injury to top his.

“Me? How about you?”

Butch snickered and glanced at his brother in the mirror. “Walkin', aren't I?”

“Where were you at?”

“You didn't hear what happened?”

“I know what happened, I—” Brick paused, dimly recalling something Blossom had said last night. “The girls' place, yeah?”

Butch gave a low whistle, and Boomer stirred, but didn't wake. “Recovering in style. We all slept in one bed. They wanted to take care of me. They also wanted to 'take care' of me, if you know what I mean, but I said, 'Girls, please! I'm injured. You won't enjoy it, and your pleasure matters as much to me as mine does!' So we took a raincheck on the orgy and just cuddled.”

Brick gave him a dry look.

“Seriously, I have it all in writing. It's a contractual obligation.”

“Hey, Butch.”

“What?”

The scars were barely there, but they were a vivid red in Brick's mind. He could almost remember it as if he'd actually known, could almost recall the warm, wet sensation of Butch's insides against his hand. If he thought too much about it...

Now Butch turned, confused at Brick's lack of a response. “What's up?”

He _was_ an idiot. He didn't listen. He disobeyed orders. But he didn't deserve... Brick wanted to tell him _Sorry_ , even though he hadn't known. He couldn't have.

“It was a vortex.”

Butch blinked. “Oh. Yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess Him put it there awhile ago.”

“No wonder. You never did too good with those.”

Brick grimaced. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Butch turned back to the mirror. “A vortex, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Butch stared at his reflection and at nothing all at once. “Huh.”

***

By the time Blossom had showered and changed, the Professor was up and moving. When Blossom saw his tired face in the hall he yawned and told her he couldn't sleep.

“Want to check on the patient, too,” he said.

“He's left,” Blossom told him, in an effort to keep him from discovering Buttercup there. It was too early for her to deal with a surly Professor. “You did great.”

It had been the hardest sort of pseudo-surgery the Professor had done before. Of course, he'd only been there to assist the real surgeon, and maintain the necessary level of X in Butch's system, but bodies weren't exactly his thing. And knowing that something that had happened to Butch—another superbeing—could've just as easily happened to any one of his girls...

Blossom gave him an extra hard hug and kissed him on the cheek for good measure.

The house began the slow process of sputtering into life. The Professor got some breakfast going, and eventually Bubbles floated down in her pajamas to help. Blossom tried to call the hospital Brick had been taken to to check up on him, but the nurse who answered told her his room was empty. She resisted the urge to ask for the boys' number from Bubbles and instead turned on the TV to see if the local news was reporting on what had transpired in Townsville last night.

The door to the lab creaked open, and Buttercup wobbled into the living room, digging the crust out of her eyes. She looked around, then focused on Blossom.

“Is Butch here?” she said through her yawn.

Blossom shook her head.

Buttercup grunted something, then continued her wobble into the kitchen.

“The suspect is an unusual one: an as-of-yet unidentified elderly woman, who just earlier this month was masquerading as a nurse at Citysville Medical—”

The doorbell buzzed, and Blossom set down the remote and dashed to the door.

“... The most recent disappearance that fits the pattern is unusual only in that the boy whom police suspect to be her next victim is a resident of Townsville—”

Blossom furrowed her brow and glanced back—Bubbles was peeking out of the kitchen at the TV, spatula in hand—and opened the front door.

“What—Robin?” Blossom cried, shocked at the sight of her friend on their doorstep, still wearing her Homecoming dress. Robin's eyes were puffy and red.

“Blossom,” she said in relief, cracking a trembly smile. “I don't know what to do, his parents are out of town and the police haven't found anything—”

“Oh my God,” Bubbles gasped, and the girls turned to look at her. Buttercup and the Professor had joined her in the living room. Just between them, Blossom could see a familiar boy's image on screen.

“Mike never showed up last night,” Robin said as Bubbles' spatula dripped pancake batter onto the carpet.

_-end Ch. 10-_


	13. Troubled Water, or Hey You With the Pretty Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. – Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbj here. Finally migrating over to AO3. 💗💙💚
> 
> Original notes: Thanks to Arrows and Red and all their efforts to make something decent much, much better.
> 
> TW/CW: Sexual harassment from a faceless third party; Brick uses a derogatory slur.

**More Than Human, Pt. 2 – Senior Fall Semester  
October – Troubled Water, ** **or** **Hey You With the Pretty Face**

_-sbj-_

They could smell Citysville long before they saw so much as a skyscraper. It was as if the entirety of its population had made a commitment to smoking the cheapest cigarettes and driving the least fuel efficient vehicles. Blossom eyed the smog that engulfed Citysville’s silhouette—dingily picturesque, in a way. The buildings teetered in the haze, every shade of brown and gray imaginable. They reminded Blossom of stacks of old card decks, their edges weathered velvety soft. One well placed puff of air could send them toppling.

“Ugh.”

Blossom took a deep breath as they flew towards the bridge the girls had pushed to the back of their mind for the better part of twelve years. “Buttercup.”

“ _Ugh_.”

“It’s already been a week since Mike went missing. You want to help him, don't you?”

“Of course I do! I just hate that…” Buttercup gritted her teeth and groaned again. “God, why did it have to be Citysville?”

“If it makes you feel better, I don't like it either,” Bubbles offered.

“None of us like that place,” Blossom said quietly.

“You shouldn’t have canceled your college visit, though, Blossom,” Bubbles said. “Between Buttercup, me, and the boys, we’d have it covered.”

“It’s important to me to be there. To be here. I’m the leader.”

“Oh, are you?” Buttercup said. “Is that why you say that literally every time we go out on one of these things?”

Blossom ignored her and continued, “Besides, I didn’t cancel it. I just pushed it back. It’s fine.”

“Before or after our birthday?”

Blossom paused. Her face grayed. Bubbles stopped entirely.

Buttercup said, “Or did you schedule it _on_ our birthday?”

“ _Blossom!_ You forgot?! It’s our eighteenth!”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t—I wasn’t thinking—”

“I’ll say.” Bubbles shook her head, blinking furiously.

“Hey,” Buttercup said, sidestepping further drama and pointing. “The guys are here already.”

“Good,” Bubbles mumbled. “I could use a hug from someone who cares.”

“Oh, come on, Bubbles,” Blossom said, but she had already zipped down and landed.

Buttercup clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Nice job, Leader Girl.”

Blossom gave her a look as they headed down. “Am I getting it from you, too, Buttercup?”

“Me, too? I think you mean me, always.”

Their feet hit the ground. Bubbles had already burrowed into Boomer’s side, pouting. Buttercup jogged over to Butch to ask how he was doing. Blossom’s gaze pulled to Brick, who was staring in the direction of Citysville. He glanced over his shoulder at her, then threw his attention elsewhere.

_Guess he’s not keen on revisiting this place, either_.

Blossom closed her eyes and took a deep breath as Buttercup said, “Let’s get this over with.”

“What is it about this place that's got all you girls' panties in a bunch?” Butch said, wrinkling his face and eliciting a look from Blossom. “Doesn't look like anything special to me.”

“It sure isn't,” Buttercup muttered, striding to the head of the group. Butch and Brick started to float forward.

“No powers, remember?” Blossom said. “There's a citywide ban on it.”

“Oh, shit, this place _does_ suck,” Butch said, landing and heading for the front. Brick motioned for him to move to the back. Butch exchanged a look with Buttercup, then obeyed. Her gaze skipped over Brick as she directed her attention forward.

Brick touched down. “If there’s no powers, then we should be driving instead.”

“I don't want to drag the Professor into this,” Blossom said sharply. “He's busy enough as it is.”

“ _I_ could be driving us in.”

“Six people could not squeeze into your tiny convertible.”

“Oh, I would've liked to ride in your car, Brick,” Bubbles said, her distress momentarily forgotten.

“It's not _that_ cool,” Boomer scoffed, squeezing her a little closer and giving his leader a glare.

“Like hell I'd let any of you in my car. I meant we could jack a…” He trailed off, catching Blossom's expression as it darkened. “Rental. We could've rented a car.”

“Yes, an easy task for six _seventeen_ -year-olds with little-to-no driving record. Buttercup, you know where we're headed? The hospital shouldn't be that far inside city limits.”

Buttercup waved her sister off. “I got it in my head.”

“You think they'll tell us anything?” Bubbles asked. “Even after the police have talked to them?”

“Only one way to find out,” Blossom said with a sigh.

“You could've called the hospital manager,” Brick said.

“It's harder to turn down a girl like Bubbles in person,” Blossom said sagely.

“I _am_ good at looking pathetic,” Bubbles agreed.

“Look, nothing.” Brick snorted. “You pretty much _embody_ patheticism. Though it _is_ a marketable skill.” He nodded at Blossom. “Devious of you to recognize that.”

“I have my moments.”

“A regular Bonnie Parker,” he said, and then he and Blossom paused.

“A what?” Bubbles asked. “What did you say, Brick?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I was just making a joke.” They resumed walking, Blossom drifting a little farther back now.

“Is that raw sewage smell, like, permanent?” Boomer asked.

“It’s the river,” Bubbles said, indicating the body of water they had just crossed.

“Where is this stupid thing, anyway?” Butch called out from the back. “Do you even know where you're going?”

Buttercup made a rude gesture. “Dumbass, I just said, like, five seconds ago!”

“You wanna lead, smart guy?” Brick responded stiffly.

“Here's Gallagher,” Buttercup announced. She had reached the end of their block and turned around, her path obstructed for the moment by a group of guys behind her crossing to the other side of the street. “You guys going to pick it up or what? I'm practically walking by myself up here.”

A very audible _smack_ suddenly echoed in the air, and Buttercup went rigid. Butch's attention shot from her to the group of snickering guys that had just passed behind her, and Bubbles yelped as he shoved her and Boomer out of his way.

“Butch, _no!_ ” Blossom shouted as his green streak blew past her.

Buttercup got to them before he did; she snatched the closest one by the collar and fired him back across the street, where he hit the side of the building a good five feet off the ground.

“ _Which one of you fuckers was it?!_ ” she screeched, throwing punches and kicks every which way. “ _I'm gonna rip your fucking dick off!_ ”

Butch dove for one of them and slammed his head into the asphalt. The guy's hair was bunched up in his fist and he was getting ready to do it again, possibly another few times to let the message _really_ sink in, but then Brick grabbed him and pulled him off.

“ _Don't!_ ” Brick hissed.

“He did it!” Butch snarled, and Buttercup's head jerked in his direction. “This stupid fucking _fuck!_ ”

He wrenched violently in Brick's grip, struggling to break free. Buttercup stopped breaking other people's collarbones to come over and maybe break this one, and the rest of the guys who could still move scattered. She kicked the guy in the ribs, and judging from the snapping sound she'd succeeded in splitting bone.

“ _Buttercup!_ ” Brick snapped, but had to shift his focus again to Butch, who had the unfortunate foresight to grab Blossom as she jetted forth to stop her sister.

“What—let me go!” Blossom's voice was shrill, and her eyes panicked as her attention jerked from Buttercup to Butch.

“ _Rip that fucker open, Buttercup!_ ” Butch ordered, struggling to break free while holding Blossom back. Boomer dashed up to help subdue him, though it didn’t seem to be doing much good.

“Buttercup, _no!_ Don't listen to him! Butch, what is _wrong_ with you?!”

His encouragement wasn't necessary; Buttercup had crushed the heel of her shoe into the guy's groin, her lip curling as he screamed.

“What? Speak up,” she demanded, moving her heel to one of his wrists. “I can't fucking hear you!”

She smashed her foot down, breaking his hand, and he howled in pain.

“Oh, if you liked that, you're gonna _love_ having two of 'em,” she growled, and moved to pin his other hand.

A flash of pink socked Butch in the solar plexus, and he released her with a wheeze. Blossom dove and ensnared Buttercup before she could make good on her offer.

“Let me _go!_ ” Buttercup screamed, thrashing in her sister's arms.

“I'll fucking kill him.”' Butch was seething as he recovered his breath. “You hear that, fucker?! _I'll fucking kill you!_ ”

“ _Butch! Chill!_ ” Brick shouted, then stiffened at the sound of approaching sirens.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he hissed. Blossom froze, panic in her eyes.

Brick released Butch and grabbed Blossom by the arm to take off, ordering his brothers to do the same, but she yanked him back to the ground.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” he yelled.

“I'm not running from the police, and neither are you!”

The noise of the squad car was deafening as it pulled up. The girls, Buttercup included, had halted, and stood tense. Brick grimaced and reluctantly held his arms up in a symbol of surrender. Boomer, after looking to his brother, took his cue and did the same.

“Here.”

A heap resembling a human body hit the hood of the squad car, wheezing for air. Butch stepped up, the glow of his glare fading as he turned it on the cops. A shadow crawled along his face as he spread his arms wide at them. “I did your fucking job for you. You’re welcome.”

***

They put Buttercup and the boys in a holding cell, away from everyone else. Blossom and Bubbles were pulled into the police chief's office to get questioned.

“Why me?” Boomer fretted. “I didn’t even do anything!”

“Because you're a guy,” Brick said, standing at the corner where the bars and concrete met, straining to listen to the girls' conversation with the chief.

“Buttercup's not a guy,” Boomer said, pouting.

Brick tossed his head at her and their sibling, sitting together against the wall. “Look at her.”

Buttercup did look the part. Her clothes were more worn than her sisters', threads frayed and shoes scuffed. Faint smears of dirt, possibly even some blood, dotted her skin. And the look on her face, the look that said “Come near me and I will fucking end you,” was enough by itself.

Butch had been the one to sit first. Well, first he'd tugged at one of the bars, bending it easily out of shape, but then Brick had knocked him back and re-straightened the bend, issuing a silent command for Butch to sit his ass down. So Butch had sat his ass down. Buttercup had joined him within seconds. Neither of them had said anything yet.

Her gaze darted to his siblings for their conversation, then drifted back to her shoes. She drew her feet up onto that lousy plank that passed for a bench and hugged her knees, burying her chin behind them. Butch watched her eyes track against the parts of her body that she could see.

“I look like this and that dumbass still touched me,” she muttered, voice retaining the anger she'd expressed so much of already.

Butch took in her pose, her expression. “Well,” he finally said, “your ass does look good in those jeans.”

She shoved at his side and grumbled, “Not fucking funny.” But she hadn't shoved him hard, only hard enough to warrant putting an elbow down on the bench to push back up. He re-adjusted and brought a knee up himself.

“They're good jeans, anyway,” he said.

“They're, like, one of my favorite pairs. But now I have to torch them.”

“For real?”

She didn't respond verbally, only nodded, and Butch knew _Yeah, for real_.

“We'll make it a ceremony. When we get back home, you go change. I'll draw up a circle and shit, whatever. And then we'll set them on fire. _Poof_. Up they'll go. I wonder how burning denim smells.”

“Better than pot, I'd imagine.”

“Bitch, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about.”

She snorted, some of that anger and sadness dissipating from her face. “Yeah.”

“Apparently they’ve been trying to catch that guy and his friends,” Brick interrupted.

“Is he gonna die?” Butch asked.

“No, and thank fucking God, for your sake,” his leader said darkly. “But if it makes you feel better, he needs a shitton of medical attention.”

“Broken bones?” Butch asked.

Boomer was pressing his face to the bars, trying to listen himself. “I think, mostly. And, um… internal damage to… you know.” He indicated the area below Brick's belt, and Brick swatted him away, glaring. Butch held a hand out to Buttercup.

“High five, sister,” he crowed, and she pulled her lips in between her teeth to hide her smile as Brick rolled his eyes and went back to eavesdropping. “Come on, be proud. Don't leave me hanging.”

She slapped his hand and gripped, squeezing hard. And then she just squeezed and didn't let go. Something stilled in Butch, and he watched as she shut her eyes and sighed, tilting her head down so her forehead rested on her knees and her expression couldn't be seen. She squeezed his hand again.

Finally, he gently squeezed back and muttered, “You okay?”

“I fucking hate guys,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, involuntarily squeezing her hand again. “I know what you mean. We kinda suck.”

“Yeah, but some suck more than others. Some of them deserve to have every fucking bone in their body broken. Some of them deserve to eat out of a tube for the rest of their life.”

She was gripping his hand like a lifeline now, squeezing so hard it was actually almost starting to hurt, and Butch knew that there was something he could do for her, _would_ do for her, if it would make things better. He glanced at his siblings, listening intently to the conversation going on in the office amidst the dim chatter of the station's inhabitants.

He leaned in closer to her, so close his arm pressed flush against hers and her hair brushed along his cheek.

“Do you want him to?”

He heard her breath catch, hitch. Her head rotated enough for him to meet those bright green eyes, wide with shock, before they darted to his unaware brothers and back. He could see her considering it, and then he was thinking of how easy it would be; go to the nearest hospital and walk in like he owned the place because he owned every place he walked into, or at least he did until Brick showed up, and security was always so lax at hospitals, there were only ever doctors and nurses, none of them ever good at blocking a punch when they felt like being a hero, and then he'd just pick his way through the rooms, one after the other after the other until he found—

Buttercup closed her eyes so he couldn't see her considering it anymore and shook her head, which left him at sort of a loss. He wondered, if not that, then what? What did she want? He just wanted… he wanted to help. So what was he supposed to do?

***

It was nice of Butch to ask, in a weird, twisted way. It made her feel like someone supported her, understood her. No, she knew, she didn't really want that, even if a part of her thrilled to the idea, wanted to jump at the opportunity. But it wasn't right, and at the end of the day she tended to believe in doing the right thing.

But it was nice of Butch to ask.

In fact, a lot of this right now was nice. Not the location or the circumstances, but just having him here to sit next to her, talk to her, and permit her to consider revenge where others would reprimand her for it. Being angry about things was part of her process. Most of her family and friends knew that about her, but Butch… he understood it.

Her grip on his hand slackened, and it took him a moment before he let go. But within the next moment she reached for it again.

Before she and Mitch had gotten together there'd been a lot of this—physical contact with each other that wasn't meant to go anywhere, that was just two people who enjoyed each other's company being close. With Mitch it hadn't involved hand-holding, just shoving and ribbing and a hand in the other's hair to mess it up. And leaning on each other, just… because. Buttercup didn't have a problem with that kind of contact, at least, not in public with people who had earned her trust. It only became a problem when that contact started to take on a more romantic edge.

Buttercup's heart didn't go off like a jackhammer in her chest as she maneuvered Butch's arm around her shoulders. It just felt nice and right and she was still feeling hurt and upset a little, so she rested her head on his shoulder and leaned fully against him. She liked how even with most of her weight on him, he didn't budge or shift to re-adjust. It was like he was made to be exactly what she needed at just the right time.

“You were right,” he said, and it broke the reverie. She stared at their knees and pulled back, shifting the entirety of herself away from his warmth and closeness and soft voice.

“About what?” she asked, her eyes on his brothers as they listened at the bars.

The arm that had been resting on her shoulders hovered somewhere between being up and relaxing completely on the bench. Finally he crossed his arms and sat back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“About this place being a shithole.”

***

Butch felt Professor Utonium's frosty, death-swearing gaze before he looked up and actually came eye-to-eye with it, and even though he and Buttercup weren't even remotely touching anymore he blanched and stiffened, straight as a board. Buttercup looked up at him in confusion, then glanced out to the bars.

“Professor?” she said. Almost sighed, really. Her voice was heavy with relief and she stood. Butch watched a little covetously as she met her father at the bars, but then felt Professor Utonium's stony glare once more and corrected his line of sight. Boomer, too, was standing rigid against the wall, fixated on the incredibly fascinating concrete floor at his feet.

The cop accompanying the Professor opened up the holding cell, and Buttercup stepped dutifully into her father's arms so he could hug her. Judging from the way she slumped into him, the physical contact wasn't unwelcome.

“What were you girls thinking?” he whispered, then, without waiting for an answer, “Come on. Let's go home.”

The cop waved the boys out. “You too. Chief wants a word.”

“Great,” Brick muttered.

They filed into the chief’s office. Brick hesitated when he caught sight of Mrs. Morbucks examining her nails. She looked up when the boys entered and smiled winsomely. Standing next to her were Blossom and Bubbles, neither of whom looked nearly as chipper. Blossom especially.

“Now I'm going to tell you what I told these two here,” the chief said, his tone brusque. “We're not pressing charges. But you'd better be God damn aware that under no circumstances are you allowed to use superpowers within the city limits.”

Boomer started, “But we were attacked—”

Brick kicked him.

“It's _against the law_ ,” the chief enunciated, glaring at the boys. “In fact, you kids shouldn't even be here. Lookin' for your friend or whatever. That isn't your business. We got our team on it. And we don't need six teenagers coming into town making even more trouble for us. Not to mention yourselves. You'll be lucky if that guy doesn't come after you threatening legal action.”

“I should’ve left him braindead,” Butch said.

“ _Butch_ ,” Brick warned.

The chief wasn't amused either. “This isn't a joke, you little shit.”

“Sir,” Mrs. Morbucks interrupted politely, “are we done here? I think everybody's had a long day.”

“I just want to make sure these kids understand what I'm telling them.” The chief leveled his gaze at Brick. “Do you?”

Brick stared back, feeling sick of always having to answer to someone above him, of being spoken to and treated like he was some child, like some run-of-the-mill idiot. Enduring it from Him had been bad enough. Enduring it from lesser beings like Darius and this asshole here was near-infuriating.

“Yes, sir,” Brick said quietly, working hard to withhold the bitterness from his tone.

“Good.”

***

After the Professor and Mrs. Morbucks signed their release forms, they were all herded out into their respective vehicles. Brick tried to catch Blossom's eye a few times, but she still seemed a little numb. The Professor didn't linger; Bubbles was only able to work in the briefest of hugs with Boomer before she had to pile into the station wagon and it sped off, homeward bound.

The boys' own ride home was silent. When they pulled up to their building and Butch and Boomer exited, Brick waved them on ahead and shut himself back in.

“I thought you might want to talk,” Mrs. Morbucks said from the front passenger seat. “Alfred, take us on a tour of the West side. Brick, in case you're wondering, I've been out of town.”

“I gathered.”

“That device we placed on you was experimental. Homecoming Night was its test run. You're aware of Professor Utonium's monster barrier for the city, of course? Pulses, frequency, et cetera, et cetera. We figured, well, if there's a frequency that repels the monsters, surely there's a frequency that attracts them as well? We'd been doing some small scale testing outside of the city, close to Monster Island, then began increasing its distance as we refined the technology. That night was our first successful test from within Townsville.”

“And you didn't think it important to check with me and make sure I was okay with this?”

“The monsters weren't actually supposed to get _into_ Townsville; the strength of the monster barrier's frequency outmatches that of our technology. Of course, we didn't expect to have the monster manifestation of a power surge get close enough to wipe out—”

“So why didn't the walking voltage spike wipe out _your_ technology? I hit that thing head-on; your little button should've been fried.”

“Oh, we built several little fail-safes into it. Spark gaps or the like; I’ve never had much of a head for the mechanical specifics. Anyway, with something that small, you want to take every precaution you can to protect what's inside and keep it working.”

Brick stared at her. “And that's why you put it on me instead of some regular person?”

He could sense her grin. “Bingo. You could protect the technology and were protected from it yourself if something went wrong. You know if that thing exploded, it could kill somebody? I mean, literally set an average human being on fire. Lots of electrical components in that thing. Oh, our team did _such_ a great job!”

“So why couldn't you have _told me_ about this?” Brick growled. He didn't mean to growl, but after everything that had gone down in Citysville, not to mention the wealth of information she'd just dropped on him, well.

“And what would I have gained by telling you anything ahead of time?”

“My trust, for one,” he said. And then he regretted it almost instantly.

Mrs. Morbucks turned, her previously winsome smile now dark and ominous. “I'm sorry, Brick. Am I to understand that you don't trust me?”

The remains of Brick's anger sucked away from his expression.

“After I agreed to pay your rent? After all the people I've introduced you to? After not only sharing with you some very sensitive information about our new technology, but _including_ you in its hands-on testing? What's to stop you from running back to JS to share this news with them? Hm?”

He only watched her, unable to think of a response.

“And me, well, here I am, placing my faith in a very young man—talented, yes, but that doesn't change the fact that you are _quite_ young—and trusting that he will be able to deliver on the promise he made to me a mere two months ago? I mean, of the two involved parties, who do _you_ think should have difficulty extending trust, Brick?”

He glanced away without meaning to and hated himself for it. “I'm… sorry if I offended you.”

“Not at all,” she said, her overly casual tone implying otherwise. “It's been a long, upsetting day for you. I understand.”

“Me, too.”

They reached his building again. Brick thanked her for the ride.

***

“Hey, Buttercup.”

Buttercup stopped her packing and groaned. “What, Bubbles?”

“You should look at this,” Bubbles said, holding out her phone.

“I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“Really, look.”

Buttercup huffed and grabbed at her sister’s cell to glare at it. She blinked, taking in the looping gif of her (with her face blurred out) smashing her foot into the crotch of the dickhole that had assaulted her.

“Is that what you were doing the whole time? Filming?”

Bubbles shrugged. “I thought you might want it for posterity’s sake.”

Buttercup laughed, a little bitterly, and handed Bubbles’ phone back. “Not exactly a moment I want to relive. Ever.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you already have 10k likes online.”

“What?! Shut up. You posted that?”

“Anonymously,” Bubbles said with a grin.

Buttercup stared at her sister, half-grinning herself. Then she glanced away, chewing the inside of her lip and looking pissed off again.

“You okay? Do you want a hug?”

“Ugh, God, Bubbles—”

“I’m hugging you,” Bubbles announced, wrapping her arms around Buttercup’s shoulders. “It’s happening. Oh no, I’m hugging you.”

“You’re the worst,” Buttercup said, hugging her back. “The absolute worst.”

“I know,” Bubbles said. “But at least I’m internet famous.”

Buttercup laughed as she pulled away and resumed packing. “Hey. Don’t let Blossom find out you posted that shit.”

“Don’t worry. I’m still supposed to be mad at her about the birthday thing.”

“What a jerk, huh?” Buttercup said, cradling her bag in her arms and jamming her feet into her sneakers.

“Yeah. What a jerk.”

***

“Robin, I'm so sorry,” Blossom said miserably.

Her friend smiled at her. “Don't be.”

“I just…” Blossom stared out of Robin's window at her own home next door, dimly lit by the moon. “A whole week’s gone by. I didn't think this was going to take this long—”

“No, I'm sorry for depending on you so much… I mean, it's not really fair, when—”

“It's totally fair,” Blossom interrupted. “We help people. We _save_ them. That's—”

“What you do. I know. And I really appreciate it, so don't apologize. You always act like these things are your fault when something goes wrong and that's not fair. You know?”

Blossom stared at her, trying to articulate what was in her head so she could get Robin to understand. Robin didn't have superpowers. She didn't have this gift that made her more capable and gave her this innate obligation to act, _really_ act, to do the right thing. Robin, like Mike, like the rest of the city, depended on her and her sisters because they _were_ superheroes and they _could_ help. The rest of the world was just human. Blossom and her sisters were something more.

She sat there, trying to phrase it all in a way that would make Robin understand, when her friend's gaze shifted to the window and held there, confused. Distracted, Blossom turned to see Buttercup darting out of their window, with some mystery item bundled in her arms.

***

Brick blinked as he took in Buttercup on their doorstep, then called, “Butch!”

“Tell him to meet me on the roof,” Buttercup said, then shot off without waiting for a reply.

“Wait—”

“What?” Butch said, emerging from his room.

Brick sighed and jerked his head up. “Buttercup. Roof. Go.”

“What the hell about?”

“I’m sorry, do I look like a fucking messenger to you?”

As soon as Butch got up there he had to go back to his room; Buttercup had forgotten to mention to bring matches. When he reappeared, matchbox in tow, she'd tossed a pair of jeans on the roof and was holding a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of lighter fluid in the other.

“I'm holding you to your promise,” she said, and it took him a second to realize the jeans on the roof were the pair she'd been wearing earlier.

He scratched his head, glancing at her lower half. These weren't bad either. “It wasn't exactly a promise.”

“Well, I'm holding you to whatever the hell you want to call it, then.”

He nodded at the bag. “What's that?”

Her hand clenched involuntarily around the handles, then she held it out and open to him. “Your clothes. From… that night.”

Butch could see the dark red stains without drifting closer. “Oh yeah.”

“I thought we could make it… I don't know, a dual ceremony. Unless you want to keep 'em, you sick fuck.”

He ran his hand over the part of his body where a scar would've resided if his body had been prone to scarring in the first place. After some consideration that was mostly spent staring past the bag at Buttercup, he shook his head.

“Nah.”

She overturned it and emptied its contents over her jeans, then doused it all with lighter fluid. Butch struck a match and held it aloft as she drifted to his side.

“You were a good pair,” she said with a sigh.

He thought for a second. “Thanks for soaking up all my blood.”

She snorted and shouldered him, and he tossed the tiny, flickering stick of wood onto the pile.

As they watched the little flame gradually grow into a sizable little fire, Butch wished he'd had the sense to bring some weed up to roll, or something. Something to keep his hands occupied and focus his attention on anything else but the orange light and shadows that played along her body. Maybe fire wasn't such a good idea after all.

He was staring at the center and considering sticking his hand in it, just to give himself something to _do_ , when Buttercup sidled closer and, without warning, leaned against his shoulder.

He continued to stare at the fire and smoke without really seeing either anymore. Buttercup's shoulder pressed against his, and he would've reached an arm around her, or done something even stupider, like take her hand or… or just take her hand, but the memory of their ruined moment earlier in the day was still fresh in his mind. He didn't dare risk ruining another.

***

The next day the six of them, plus the Professor, were seated in the Citysville Mayor's office. The Chief of Police was there as well.

Brick was beside himself with anger at what had just come out of the Mayor's mouth. But it was Professor Utonium who spoke up first.

“That's out of the question!”

“We're trying to compromise here,” the Mayor said patiently.

“They wanna help? They can help,” the chief said. “But we got rules.”

“Rules that could get them, get them attacked, or _worse—_ ”

“They seem pretty capable of taking care of themselves,” the chief said with a shrug.

Brick couldn't help it; he scoffed and muttered, “Yeah, the whole 'having superpowers' thing helps.”

“You don't _have_ to help,” the Mayor pointed out, and here the chief looked a little smug. “We just wanted to extend the offer on our terms. That ban on superpowers was passed for a reason.”

Blossom reached for her father. “Professor—”

“You girls aren't even eighteen yet! There's _no way_ I'm letting you wander around this, this—”

“Shithole,” Buttercup muttered under her breath, but only loud enough for those with superhearing to catch it. Blossom issued a scathing glare in her direction.

“—city without your superpowers! Do you girls have _any_ idea how much I worry about you as it is?!”

A long, tense silence followed the Professor's outburst, during which the girls looked at their father with no small amount of guilt and the boys shifted uncomfortably. A thought came into Brick's head that stuck and didn't let go, no matter how much he tried to push it away.

“Well,” the Mayor said finally, and sighed, while the chief looked triumphant. “It sounds like you shouldn't—”

Brick's mouth had already begun to open of its own accord, but once again, someone else spoke first.

“We can do it,” Boomer said, drawing everybody's eye. “I mean, me and my brothers. Just us.”

Butch's eyes widened and shifted from his blond brother to their leader. Boomer blinked, and then followed suit.

“What do you think, Brick?” he asked, cringing a little. “Is that… okay?”

Brick had narrowed his eyes at him, annoyed that Boomer had spoken out of turn and, to a lesser extent, beaten him to the punch.

“Funny,” he finally said, relaxing and looking directly at the chief. “I was just about to suggest the same thing.” His eyes flicked to Blossom, thinking about what he had overheard the girls arguing about yesterday. “Besides, you’ve got that college visit, don’t you?”

“No, I’ve already—” Blossom suddenly clamped her mouth shut, but the Professor had caught it.

“Already what?”

All eyes were on her, save for her sisters’. She stared at the Professor, then steeled herself and said, “I already pushed it back.”

Professor Utonium’s hands opened and closed helplessly. “Honey, what did you do that for?”

“Because Mike’s missing, and he’s our responsibility—”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Brick interrupted. “He isn’t _your_ responsibility—”

“I’m not arguing this point with you,” she said. “Your help is appreciated, but—”

“You’re forgoing your personal desires for the sake of someone else.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m glad you understand that.”

“That was an insult. You’re being ridiculous, sacrificing your opportunities and education—”

“It’s just a visit! That was rescheduled! I’m not ‘sacrificing’ anything—”

“’Cept our birthday,” Bubbles muttered, the hurt evident in her voice, and Blossom shut her eyes and groaned.

“Bubbles, _please_.” Blossom took a deep breath, then turned to the Professor. “Mike’s our friend. It’s important to me to be here.”

“We literally _just_ volunteered,” Brick said.

“Stop,” Blossom said. “ _You_ don’t get it!”

“Uh, do you all need a minute?” the Mayor asked, exchanging a look with the chief. “It feels like we should—”

“Neither do you, Blossom!” Brick snapped, because why the fuck did he even bother? “Stop playing the martyr. You can’t save everybody.”

Blossom ignored him and turned back to the Professor. “I’m staying.” She glanced back at Brick, her gaze hard and weighted with a pain that made him uncomfortable and pushed his own eyes away. “And that’s final.”

***

_Why did I open my stupid fucking mouth?_

“Okay.” Blossom huffed a breath, eyes sweeping Citysville Town Square, where they had gathered to enact Phase Two of their plan after a quick jaunt back to Townsville. “So. Different approach.”

Bubbles radiated glee. “You. Look. So. _Cute_.”

Boomer turned so she could get a look at the back of his borrowed leather jacket. “I gotta admit, it’s not bad. How does it make my butt look?”

“Also cute!”

“ _Bubbles_ ,” Blossom said.

Butch shrugged his shoulders a few times, letting his letter jacket settle. “The jock side of me digs, but the rebel don’t. I’m conflicted. What about you, Brick?”

“Shoot me,” Brick said, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

“Really gives you guys a different flavor,” Buttercup said. She sneered. “You look _so_ wholesome.”

Bubbles was pouting. “I wanted to add patches, but we have to give them back to Ms. Keane.”

“I can feel brain cells dying,” Brick said, regretting all his choices.

“Don’t exaggerate,” Blossom said, beyond irritated at her emotional response. “You look the part, at least. Did you already take the Antidote X?”

“Sure did,” Butch said, then lit up. “Hey, Buttercup, arm-wrestle me.”

“No, no, no. No distractions,” Blossom said.

“Besides, our dad can see us from the coffee shop.” Buttercup pointed to a building at the north end of the square, where Professor Utonium had holed up with his tracking equipment. “He’ll kill you if he sees you touch me.”

“Eep,” Butch and Boomer said, backing away.

“There are probably less stupid ways to do this,” Brick said.

Bubbles waved her hand dismissively. “You’re just saying that because you don’t like being used as bait.”

“Why do we need three people for bait?” Brick jerked his head back at Boomer. “He’s the only one who looks the part.”

“Hey!”

“To increase our odds,” Blossom said.

“Three are better than one,” Buttercup said.

“Oh my God, we’re _literal_ jailbait!”

“ _Butch_ ,” Brick said.

“We should split up,” Bubbles said. “Nobody’s going to abduct a boy out of a group.”

Buttercup glanced at Butch. “But we have to keep an eye on them if something happens—”

“Great idea,” Boomer interrupted, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend and turning away. “We’re all on dates! Bye!”

“That’s not really necessary!” Brick called after him. He turned back, glaring down at his jacket and grumbling, “We’re being tracked with these stupid things, anyway.”

Butch spoke up. “So are we doing the date thing, or…”

“No,” Blossom and Brick said, simultaneously.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Buttercup said, stunning everyone. “Keeping eyes on the boys. Plus, it looks weird if a teenage dude’s out by himself.”

“Mike was out by himself,” Blossom said.

“Yeah, but what if something goes wrong? What if something happens to them?”

Butch sneered. “Oh, you’re worried! That’s _adorable_.”

“Of course I’m fucking worried!” Buttercup snapped, her attention flicking from his face to his torso and back. The sneer dropped.

The mild panic that had sprung up in Blossom’s chest at first mention of the idea was starting to swell. She glanced at Brick, who was looking at her. He averted his gaze as soon as their eyes met.

_I can’t do this_.

“I’ll go with Butch,” she announced.

Her turn to stun everyone. Butch looked as if he had actually flatlined.

“But—”

“It’s okay, Buttercup,” Blossom said. “I’ll take care of him.”

“ _Oh, my God_ ,” Butch gasped, dropping to his knees and clutching at his chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Am I dying? Is this what it feels like to die of happiness?”

“Quit being such a drama queen,” Brick said, already turned away from the group. “Come on, Buttercup. Let’s go.”

Buttercup held for a second, her gaze caught between all three of them. She met Blossom’s eyes last, then finally pulled away to follow Brick.

“So…”

Blossom turned back to Butch.

“What are we celebrating, honey?”

She groaned.

***

Bubbles kept looking over her shoulder at Blossom as she and Boomer got swallowed up in the throng of Halloween revelers amassing on the green and in the streets. She knew she was supposed to be mad at her, but…

“Hey,” Boomer said, pointing. “They’re doing a Halloween parade.”

“Oh, fun.” Blossom was leaving with Butch. Well, that was one way to avoid bad memories.

“That’s gonna make finding this old lady tough.”

_They’re heading to the mall_.

“Then again, maybe it’ll give her, like, the perfect opportunity to snatch up another guy.”

Butch said something to Blossom and she jerked back, arm instinctively readying a punch. She probably wasn’t gonna last very long.

“Hey! Earth to Bubbles.” Boomer’s hand appeared in front of her face, waving. She blinked and turned back.

“Sorry! I just. I’m. I’m worried about her.”

Boomer peered over her shoulder. “Who? Blossom? I thought you were mad at her.”

“Yeah, but—” Bubbles shook her head. “You know what, I’m sorry.” She looked around at the vendors setting up their wares around the square; overpriced fair food and carnival games surrounded them. She spotted a man riding a bike through the crowd, peddling puffy pastel clouds of sugar. “Here, I’ll make it up to you with some cotton candy.”

“Cotton candy and makeouts?” Boomer said hopefully.

“Maybe later on the latter.” She pulled away. “What flavor do you want?”

“Surprise me!”

She grinned and hustled her way over to the candy seller.

Boomer smiled, relaxing. What a relief it was to get away from all that bickering and drama. He looked around, a little smug.

_Guess the Mike rescue will have to wait for another night._

As if on cue, the crowd parted, and Boomer found himself staring Mike right in the face.

***

Blossom studied Butch’s proffered hand, which he had extended towards her as he held the door open to the mall with his back.

“I mean, if we’re dating…” Butch left the end of his sentence hanging.

She was in no mood to humor him and simply stared back, her eyes dead.

He tried another tactic. “Okay, okay. How about. Um. What date do you think we’re on? First? Third? Are we at the hand-holding stage, or maybe fooled around some—”

“First,” Blossom interjected. “And it’s definitely a favor I’m doing for a friend.”

“Hey, maybe it’s a favor _I’m_ doing for a friend.”

“Then why would we even be out in the first place?”

“I don’t— _ugh_.” Butch threw his head back and huffed a breath. “Okay. Look. Seriously. We’re on a date. We should at least look like it, shouldn’t we?”

He offered his hand again. Blossom stared, mulling it over. He wasn’t wrong. They had to look the part. As long as he didn’t act… weird, or say something gross, or _do_ something gross…

_And it’s not like I really know him any—_

The thought ground to a sudden stop in her brain, and she almost wanted to kick herself. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen this for the opportunity it was. She didn’t know anything about Butch or his circumstances, and now she could ask.

And, by extension…

_But hand-holding is too much._

“I guess,” she said grudgingly, and reached for his elbow, slipping her arm through the crook of it, “you have a point.”

***

Brick tossed his head at the mall. “We could go there.”

“Ugh, no. Isn’t it better to split up, anyway?” Buttercup looked around, then indicated a dilapidated strip mall lining the street off the east end of the square. “Let’s see what’s going on over there.”

Brick squinted his eyes. “A donut joint, a pawn shop, a laundromat, and a condom store. Yeah, that sounds like the hip place for a couple of teenagers to hang.”

“Donuts and condoms are a winning combination,” Buttercup said, and waved him along. “Come on. Or go off on your own, whatever.”

“You said you wanted to keep an eye on us,” he said, falling into step just behind her.

That hard green glare shot to Brick’s hands for a moment. “You know what I meant, jackass.”

Tension ratcheted up his spine. _Oh. Yeah_.

“Did you know?”

He stared at the back of her head. “Did I know?”

“That it was him. You were covered in blood when we found you guys. Did you do it on purpose?”

Heat shot through him like a bullet. He could practically hear his teeth grinding into powder; he was gritting them that hard. “Of course not. Not that it matters to you, but I was drowning in there.”

“Seems like a shitty reason to tear your own brother open—”

His eyes flared and he grabbed her by the arm, twisting her around so he could say _Fuck you_ to her face. The instant he touched her, her opposite hand was at his throat, jammed into the divot of his collarbone.

Buttercup had eyes you could cut glass on. They pierced him, sharpening at the edges as if someone had dialed the saturation too high on a television set.

“I don’t owe you an explanation, you little cunt,” he hissed.

Those sharp-edged green eyes narrowed. “My sister seems pretty keen on you, so I kinda think you do.”

The gear-switch took Brick aback, and he blinked, his grip loosening for a second. Long enough for Buttercup to shove him away from her.

He tossed his head at her, forcing a laugh. “Did I do it on purpose? What do you think?”

She chewed on it for a long time, her reflection captured in the window of the pawn shop.

“I don’t think you did,” she said, finally. “But you. I don’t know what to think about you.”

_Fuck this fake date bullshit._

He shoved past her, muttering, “That’s because you don’t know anything about us. Butch included.”

***

“You know, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Blossom said, devoutly ignoring the fact that it was because Butch had opened his mouth in the first place. “I don’t know that much about you.”

Butch thought for a second. “Well, I’m single, for one.”

Blossom’s eyes twitched as she closed them and she took a breath.

“And if you want my measurements, they’re—”

“I don’t—why would I even—okay. Just… the last time we knew you guys, you were, you know. With Him.”

“Oh, olden times. Yeah.”

“Why’d you leave?”

He shrugged. “Brick thought it was time to.” His eye caught a lingerie store. “Hey, want to go in there?”

“No. So it was his idea? I mean, did you want to leave?”

“Nothing better to do. Although I guess if I had stayed, you and I could’ve started our relationship earlier.”

Blossom could feel her eyes rolling into the back of her head. How many deep breaths had she taken so far?

_Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet._

“Wasn’t Him… you know, upset?”

“Eh, Brick worked something out. The riddle thing. So He was mad, but, well, He couldn’t do anything about it. He was pretty pissed about Boomer, though.”

Blossom furrowed her brow. “Why Boomer?”

“Iunno.” Butch shrugged again. “Probably because he liked to dress up and sing. Who knows.”

“Where’d you guys go after?”

“What is this, Twenty Questions?”

“No, I was just… just trying to get to know you better.”

“Like in the biblical sense?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Blossom groaned, unable to hold in her disgust any longer and trying to pull away.

He tugged her back, laughing. “Sorry! Sorry. Can’t help myself.”

“I’m pretty sure you can,” she said.

He lit up. “I _can_ help myself? Well, in that case—”

“How is it that Brick’s so smart?” Blossom said, her teeth gritted.

“Brick? He’s always been smart.”

“And angry?”

“Comes with the territory, doesn’t it? Knowing things just pisses you off more.”

“But how did he learn—did he go to school? Or did you guys go to school?”

“No, but—”

“So how did you learn anything?”

“What is it with all these questions?” he said, and Blossom took in his expression, now stony and grim. Shoot. She’d have to try another tactic.

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting a bit of remorse enter her tone. She tightened her grasp on his arm. “I was just curious.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

***

_Bubbles will be mad if you don’t._

But she’d never know. She wouldn’t know if he didn’t say—

_No._ He wouldn’t lie to her.

Mike had not appeared to have recognized Boomer, even though he’d been looking right at him. Instead he had walked past him, more focused on maneuvering through the crowd, his arms weighed down by shopping bags.

Boomer stared, then shouted, “Bubbles, it’s Mike!” and went after him. When he didn’t hear her respond, he paused and turned in confusion.

_No powers and you’re in a crowd. She can’t hear you_.

Oh. Right.

“Shit,” he muttered, turning back to find he had lost the target. He pushed forward, head whipping side-to-side, and just when he was about to give up Mike’s head bobbed into sight again, a considerable distance away. “Mike!” Boomer called, but his name melted into the crowd noise. Mike gave no indication that he had heard anything, just kept weaving his way through people, shopping bags in hand. He was booking it, a kid on a mission, every second carrying him that much farther away.

Boomer looked around for Bubbles, but she was nowhere in sight. And if she didn’t show up soon…

Mike parted from the crowd, disappearing into an alley. Boomer swore and went after him.

_Well, at least they have a tracker on me_.

***

Brick leaned against the wall of a custom frame store, closed for business on the weekends. His feet were just outside the circle of light cast by a dim streetlamp, its color familiar. He stood a little straighter, shuffling his feet back and away from it.

He watched on with disinterest as the crowd grew in anticipation of the parade. This was stupid. How were they supposed to find this woman? The place was crawling with people and she’d have her pick of victims tonight; there were no guarantees that one of their three would be targeted. Whose brilliant fucking idea was this, anyway?

“Here for the parade?”

He looked up, half-expecting the universe to throw him a _Fuck you_ and see an old woman standing next to him. But it wasn’t. Much the opposite, in fact. She had sharp features accentuated with just a touch of makeup, and her honey-blonde hair fell in soft waves that curled strategically around her breasts. She wasn’t in costume; the dress she wore had intricate lace detailing and, judging from the way it clung to her frame, had been custom-made for her.

“You looked lonely,” she said, her voice sweet and sultry and… choral, oddly? He found himself instantly wanting to hear more, and yet, as good as he thought a woman looked in lace, this was not the time.

Brick dragged his eyes away from hers and held up a hand. “Lady, I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, I could help with that,” she said, that choir singing again. He found his eyes drifting back, unable to focus on anything but her face. He shook his head and blinked at her, suddenly irritated at the interruption, irritated at this city, at Buttercup, at Blossom, at the ridiculousness of these fucking circumstances that made him not want to talk to a gorgeous woman when she approached him.

“I am a _teenager,_ you pedophile. Don’t make me hit you.”

“You wouldn’t do something like that in front of all these people, would you?”

“I fucking hit _hard_.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Her long fingers stretched towards him. He grimaced.

_Fine. You asked for it_.

His fist was halfway to her breathtaking face when those long fingers brushed along his hand. They seemed to dance along it in slow motion, and then he felt himself buckling as his head rolled back, his eyes heavy with the weight of sleep.

_That’s not normal_ , he thought, and a wave of exhaustion swept through him, pushing out one last breath before everything went black.

***

“Hey, Professor.”

Professor Utonium looked up from his table, his pencil stilling on his notepad. “Hey! Buttercup? What—why aren’t you out with the group?”

“I’m not feeling it,” Buttercup said, settling in the chair across from him. “Blossom and Bubbles have got their eyes on the boys and we can track ‘em from here, anyway. I’d rather hang with you.”

The Professor’s face lit up, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”

“No, I just! I mean, I am, but.” He made this expression somewhere between a smile and a pout, then rose out of his chair. “Thanks for keeping your old man company. I’m getting another coffee. Do you want anything?”

She glanced over at the baked goods in the window. They looked like they’d been sitting there all day. She made a face and shook her head at him.

“They have hot chocolate. I could get you a hot chocolate. It’s pumpkin spice season, too.”  
  


“Okay, a hot chocolate.”

As he went to the counter, she swung his laptop around to check out where the boys were. Boomer and, she presumed, Bubbles, had left the square and were wandering through a residential area roughly half a mile away. She looked out the window, assessing where she’d need to run if something happened. Half a mile was nothing for her.

Brick was a few blocks away, not far from where they’d split. Butch and Blossom appeared to have gone into the mall. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Her cheek smushed into her face.

She’d considered running off to find Butch and Blossom. She was pretty sure Blossom had regretted her decision five minutes after making it. On the other hand, this was probably the only time Butch was ever going to get a date with her, even if it was a fake one.

She wondered what they were doing. Blossom tended to be awkward in regular social situations with their peers, but they were there on a mission, so she’d probably walk them back and forth, steering Butch from one teen-themed store to another. Butch had probably tried to walk them into a lingerie store.

Yeah. There was no way Blossom was going to last more than five minutes.

“Here you go, sweetie.”

She looked up as she took the drink from the Professor, so she missed it: On the screen, Brick’s dot disappeared, then reappeared in the next instant at the other end of the map.

“Thanks, Professor.” Her gaze immediately zeroed in on Butch’s dot again as she took a sip.

***

“So what is it about Brick that you like so much?” Butch asked, and Blossom’s heart shot into her throat. She jerked away in surprise, but Butch had a firm grip on her arm. He glanced down at her. “I mean. Since we’re prying and all.”

“I—I don’t—”

“Oh come on, I’m not stupid.”

Blossom’s indignant anger kicked in. “Let go of me.”

Butch tightened his grip. “Doesn’t seem fair, you pretending to be sweet and interested—”

“We _are_ pretending, that is the _point—_ ”

“And using me to dig into our past—”

“I wasn’t _using_ you, I was—”

“Just ‘cause you couldn’t get anything out of him—”

Blossom switched tactics again. She punched him in the gut.

The instant his hold loosened she tore out of it, stalking to the railing to glare at the pedestrians on the floor below them. Eventually she sensed Butch approaching, and she stiffened as he joined her at the rail. At least he had the decency to keep a few feet between them.

“This isn’t about Brick,” she said.

“Bullshit. Everything is always about Brick.”

The undercurrent of hurt beneath all that viciousness in his voice stunned her, and she bit back her usual reprimand and chanced a glance at him. Maybe he was thinking of something that had happened when they were kids, or just their conversation up until now; she couldn’t tell. All she could tell was that he was miserable, and then, like a contagious disease, it spread to her.

The weight of her last memory in this city crushed her, and something couldn’t help but spill out.

“I don’t know why,” she whispered. “I don’t. He’s… he’s so mean. He doesn’t care about other people. Doesn’t seem to. He’s got such a high opinion of himself, and he looks down on everybody, and…” There was too much to say, too much that was wrong with him, too many reasons that she couldn’t parse into enough words.

She clenched at the rail, almost expecting it to give under the pressure of her hands. Thank God for the Antidote X, tonight.

“But I still… I can’t help it. I don’t know why.”

She listened to his silence as he waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he sighed and hoisted himself up so he could sit on the railing, his back to the open fall. Her instincts kicked in and she gasped.   
  


“What are you doing?! Get down—”

He ignored her and hung upside down, his knees dangling on their side. She grabbed at his hands, still gripping the rail.

“ _Get down—_ ”

_I don’t know why, either_ , he thought.

“People are staring, you’re making a scene—”

_Fucking Brick_.

“If something happens to you, Buttercup’s gonna kill me—”

Something shot through him, stopping in his throat. He hung there for a second, the blood rushing to his head. Like the vortex, except, well.

Suddenly this did seem pretty stupid. He tensed his core and sat up, jumping down. Blossom instantly pulled him away from the edge.

“Oh, thank God,” she said.

He stared at his hands in hers, then looked up and smirked. “Got you to hold my hand after all.”

She gaped at him for a second, then ripped her hands away and shoved him in the chest.

He laughed. “Careful! I might go over the edge again!”

“God, I wish!” she snapped, stalking away.

He forced another laugh, watching her walk away, marveling at how little it did for him now. The smile dropped off his face and he stuck his hands in the pockets of his borrowed letter jacket. He felt clumsy and useless and pathetic.

_Fucking Brick_.

Brick had always had that effect on people. And it wasn’t like his brothers were any exception.

He thought about going after her.

_Fuck it. I need a smoke_.

***

Brick came to slowly. The room fuzzed in his vision. He groaned and tried to press himself up, his arms quivering with the effort. Christ, it was like AB all over again.

A blurry face appeared, and he blinked furiously, trying to pull it into focus.

“You’re awake.”

“Barely,” he managed. It was a woman. Wait. What woman?

_That doesn’t make any sense_.

He looked around, coming into himself a bit more fully. They were in a high-rise—one entire wall was windows, the city’s lights twinkling below them. Brick took in the posh setting, his eyes falling last on the king-sized bed that he had woken up on, and froze.

“You passed out,” she said, but her arms were framing his waist, one knee between his legs, and his gaze darted to the wall, where her shadow—

He kicked her off of him and backed away, tumbling off the side of the bed and trying to summon the strength to stand. Even the effort of getting away took too much out of him; he had to grab onto a chair to pull himself up.

“Sweetheart! Calm down!”

“What’s wrong?”

Brick’s head snapped to the door, where he heard more voices, more commotion. Fuck, if there was more than one of these—

He gripped the arms of the chair and tried to stand, staring at her shadow: two sets of wings, rising up into the ceiling, and a serpentine, barbed tail flicking in annoyance.

“You should lie down,” she said sweetly, the eyes of her human form darkening to something unnatural.

“No, thank you,” he said.

The doors burst open, and his gaze was compelled by some invisible force to look. A group of four or five women hovered by the door.

_Shit. Shit shit shit_.

“Laurie, do you need a hand in here, sweetie?”

“Not yet,” she said, that demonic gaze drilling into Brick.

“You might,” another voice said. “He looks like a runner.”

“More of a fighter,” Laurie said. Brick’s grip tightened on the arms of the chair, his gaze darting to the window and back.

“You’ll never survive the fall, honey,” one of the girls said.

“I’ll take my chances,” Brick said, then turned and threw the chair with all his might at the nearest window. It might not shatter completely, but at least he could crack it—

The chair bounced comically off of the glass and hit the floor.

“Oh, fuck off!” he shouted, before being engulfed in a wave of succubi.

***

Blossom sat on a mall bench, knees drawn to her chest. Normally she wouldn’t have put her feet up on any public surface, but it made her feel small and gave her some semblance of comfort.

_I don’t know why._

She buried her head in her knees and sighed.

_I shouldn’t have left him alone_.

She just wasn’t up to this right now. Butch had been right, incredibly. It wasn’t fair of her to pry and not expect him to pry back. He’d been right about the other thing, too. It hadn’t been about anything else but Brick. Protecting the city was just an excuse now. And while she hated to admit it, she just didn’t care about where the boys had been in the way she had before. No. She just. Just.

_I wanted to know more about him_.

What a stupid, pathetic girl she was.

“Blossom?”

Her head snapped up to find Bubbles standing next to her. Bubbles smiled, her expression soft. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Blossom put her feet down on the ground.

“Scoot over?”

She obliged, and Bubbles sat.

“You okay?”

Blossom sat still for a moment, then simply hitched her shoulders up and dropped them with a sigh.

“Was he a jerk?”

“Yeah. Well. I mean. He was himself. But I was a jerk too. Probably a bigger one.”

Bubbles wiggled closer and wrapped an arm around Blossom, who leaned into the embrace automatically.

“I hate it here,” Blossom whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I know.”

“It makes me so sad.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry about our birthday. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Okay, no more apologizing. I’m done being upset about it. Probably.”

“I shouldn’t have left Butch.” Blossom lifted her head and looked around.

“We can check where they are on the tracker.”

“Where’s Boomer?”

“I’m not sure.” Bubbles took out her phone. “But there’s good news, at least. Look.”

Blossom squinted to read a text from Boomer. “‘10 Sugarplastic Drive?’ Where’s—oh my God.”

Her eyes had settled on the photo underneath his text, its subject—

“Mike, he’s found Mike! Why didn’t you tell me first thing?!” Blossom cried, leaping to her feet and running to the exits.

Bubbles jogged up next to her. “You looked so sad, and I figured we have a tracker on Boomer, so as long as they stay together—”

“I’m not important right now! Mike’s the one missing!”

“Not anymore. And you’re important, too.” Bubbles’ hand fumbled for Blossom’s as they ran. Blossom allowed her a squeeze, then resumed her mad dash for the doors.

“Family stuff later! We have to find Boomer first! We don’t even know where this place is!”

***

_We’re underground_.

Boomer studied the wooden beams in the ceiling of their tunnel. They didn’t look new, but they appeared sturdy enough to hold. Behind the wooden frame was a cobblestone wall, and he reached out to brush his hands along the bumpy surface. When he brought his hand back to his face, he could see smears of dust on his skin.

“Where are we going?” he asked Mike, not looking up. Not like there was enough light down here to see him anyway.

The light on Mike’s cell phone swiveled back to Boomer for a second, momentarily blinding him. “I’m gonna introduce you to someone.”

Boomer snorted. “Sounds like something a serial killer would say.”

“I’m not a serial killer.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Voices started to trickle down the corridor. Boomer tensed at first, but the conversation didn’t sound ominous—much the opposite, in fact. It sounded… kind of normal?

The light on Mike’s phone switched off, and Boomer automatically took a step back and braced. But Mike continued on, and as Boomer’s eyes adjusted he could see the dim, scattershot glow of fairy lights illuminating the far wall.

The tunnel seemed to dead end where the lights were strung, and Mike paused to glance back at Boomer.

“Come on,” he said, heading to the left and disappearing. Not a dead end. Just a bend.

Boomer wondered if being underground might interfere with the tracker.

_She’ll find me_.

He shook out his shoulders and followed Mike.

***

Butch’s steps echoed in the parking garage as he climbed the stairs. He struck a match off of his teeth, a hint of sulfur in his mouth as he planted a joint between his lips and lit it.

It sounded like a party outside, off in the distance. Probably the parade they’d seen setting up before they got to the mall. He took a puff and glanced to the side, eyes looking out for an empty floor where he could smoke in peace. There were a few cars scattered throughout the garage, and he could see a kid sitting in one of them by himself. Shit, some fucker was gonna get child services called on them.

He climbed to the next floor, but this was a no-go, too. Another couple of kids were standing at the wall, looking out over the city and down at the parade. Jesus, apparently the Citysville Mall garage did double-duty as a daycare center. Those kids couldn’t have been more than eight.

He got to the next floor and paused.

_What the—_

A boy stood at the far end of the garage, staring his way.

He furrowed his brow. “Something wrong, kid?”

The boy said nothing. Didn’t even blink.

_Like something out of a horror movie_ , Butch thought. It occurred to him that he’d been climbing a while, and he looked over at the column on which the floor number was painted.

P3.

_That can’t be right. I came in on the second floor._

He hurried to the next floor.

P3.

_No, that’s not—_

Another flight. P3.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” he said aloud, pulling his joint out of his mouth. He turned and froze.

No cars here. Only an entire floor of kids from wall-to-wall, their pallid gray eyes fixed on him.

“Oh, no fucking thank you,” he declared, and bolted back down.

***

“Hey, hey, _hey!_ ” Brick shoved one of them off of him, and several more took its place.

“Boy, you are _deliciously_ frustrated,” a voice hissed in his ear, and he wrenched away, but several arms held him fast and pulled him back.

_God, Antidote X was a_ stupid _idea_.

Inky black eyes pierced his, upside down. The yellow slits of her pupils narrowed.

“There’s someone in there,” she said, disgusted.

“Yeah, no shit!” he spat. At least until they started sucking the life force out of him. Christ, demons were the fucking worst!

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said, her lips curling. She drew close and he tensed back. “We’ll get her out of there.”

***

Boomer rounded the corner, ready to be jumped, ready to get stabbed at, or shot at, or possibly electrocuted? Maybe?

Instead he was met by a middle-aged woman in a bathrobe holding a cat.

“Hello,” she said, a charming smile alighting on her face. Boomer was momentarily starstruck.

“Hi,” he said. The white cat in her arms twitched its ears, and the movement disturbed the near-translucent fabric draped on the Classical sculpture that was her body. “Um.” He pulled his eyes away, looking around. Her underground home was decorated lavishly, but tastefully. While it had never made much of a difference to him, they’d been on enough missions that he could just barely tell what was cheap and what was expensive.

_Whoever she is, this lady is loaded._

The thought jarred his mind to the task at hand, and he asked, “Who are you?”

That smile was radiant. The cat leaped to her shoulder as she extended an arm.“A welcoming hostess.”

_Okay, I guess we’re not using names._

He took her hand.“Then I am. Um. A confused guest?”

Her laughter had the character of honey sliding down the inside of a jar. That silk smooth hand left his. The cat jumped back into her arms, and she held it out to him.

“Be a dear and entertain the kitty, would you?”

“I, uh.” Before he could protest, the cat was in his arms, its green eyes burning into his. He blinked and looked up. “I don’t know anything about—”

“You’ll be fine,” the woman said, waving a hand as she walked away. “Boys, is my bath ready?”

Mike and two other boys had appeared at the far doorway. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she said, touching a hand to Mike’s cheek as she walked past.

Boomer’s eyes went wide. The other boys were teenagers, too.

_She has to be—_

The cat interrupted him by pawing at his face, and he blinked.

“Sorry, kitty. Uh.” He looked around for a toy. The cat pawed at his face again, and he looked down. Kitty was staring at him, and as soon as their eyes met, it started to purr.

The thrum of it vibrated against him, a sweet, hypnotic buzz, and he felt something inside him melt.

“Aww,” he said, and reached to tickle its chest.

***

“When did Brick get so far away?” Bubbles said, eyeing the map as they packed the Professor’s gear.

“Let’s figure that out later,” Blossom said.

“We’ll head to Sugarplastic,” Buttercup said, indicating herself and Bubbles. “It’s walking distance. Blossom, you and the Professor should take the car and go get Brick.”

“Me? Why me?”

Buttercup had to raise her voice over the noise of the parade as they made their way outside. “I’m not in the mood to deal with that douche right now.”

“ _Buttercup_ ,” the Professor said.

“Sorry, Professor.”

“Be careful, you two,” he said, giving Bubbles a kiss on the head and Buttercup a squeeze.

“You too,” Bubbles and Buttercup said in unison as they urged Blossom into the car.

***

“Girls, where on _Earth_ have you all gone?”

Brick stopped struggling for a second. _I know that voice_.

“In here, Lilith!” one of the flesh-eating monsters chirped, and it slammed into Brick like a freight train.

“Oh, _no_.” He groaned and went slack.

“Giving in, are we?” one near his cheek purred.

“Could you just start eating me?” he said. It was far preferable to dying of humiliation.

The door pushed open. “Gosh, you girls must have something good. You didn’t even finish these guys out—”

The room flashed for a second, as if it was being engulfed in flame, then immediately converged to a single point at the room’s entrance. Brick allowed his gaze to be pulled to the figure at the door.

The Mother of Demons gasped, a delighted smile curling onto her face.

“Brick! Is that you?”

He pulled his lips tight, an approximation of a greeting as the demonic horde turned their heads from their leader to him in stunned confusion.

“Hi, Aunt Lilith.”

***

After her bath, the woman re-emerged in a nightgown. Five or so boys complimented her on it almost immediately, then resumed their various chores. There was sweeping and dusting happening around Boomer, and the clinking of glass as one boy mixed her a drink.

The clinking seemed out of place, and Boomer wanted to look up and see where it had come from. But the kitty was demanding attention. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything else.

It tilted its chin up, eyes tapering in pleasure as he scratched its neck. Then it angled its head so his hand could migrate to an ear.

A dreamy smile curled onto his face. What a good kitty. What a good, soft kitty.

_Now the head,_ a voice said to him, from somewhere, and he obliged.

_Not the back. The forehead_.

“Sorry,” he murmured, and adjusted course.

_Perfect_.

The cat’s purring filled his head, a near deafening drone.

***

Brick stared at his reflection in his coffee as Lilith chittered the usual grown-up platitudes reserved for small children. The rest of the ladies had cleared the room, though a few of them lingered by the door, eavesdropping.

_This is so embarrassing_.

“I haven’t seen you in ages! Gosh, you’re all grown up now.”

“Not quite. I’m seventeen. And it’s only been, like, five years. How does that translate to ‘ages’ for you? Haven’t you lived since the dawn of time or something?”

The succubus shrugged, her dark hair slipping across her shoulders and wings like water cascading over a falls. “You can’t help but lose track of the time when you live that long. Everything gets all jumbled up together. How is your Father?”

Brick had known the question was coming, but cringed at it anyway. “The same,” he bit out.

“We’re not due to catch up for a while yet. Is He still—”

“I don’t know, actually,” Brick said, unable to manage even a second more of this. “We’re… kind of on the outs right now. He’s mad ‘cause I left a few years back. Me and my brothers.”

She tittered, the sound like ringing bells. “That’s so _human_.”

“What, the leaving?”

“I’m surprised He let you.”

“Yeah, well. He wasn’t exactly… _happy_ about it.”

“And Boomer went? Goodness, I’d never have imagined it. They were a pair—”

“He wasn’t happy about _that_ , either.”

“What a simple boy he was. Very sweet, though. He used to sing all the time—”

Brick grunted, trying to find a way out of this conversation.

“Hey.”

He twisted to find one of the succubi hovering behind him, her hand extended. “Sorry for attacking you. I’m Nancy.”

Brick took her hand. “Is that a direct translation?”

Nancy looked at Lilith. “A comedian, this one.”

“Oh, you should meet his brothers.”

“You have brothers?” a voice from the doorway asked.

“Do you have pictures?”

“Of course not,” Brick snapped. “What teenager carries pictures of his brothers around?”

“Lilith, do _you_ have pictures?”

“I’ll show you when we get home,” Lilith said, turning her attention back to Brick. “We’re on vacation for another two weeks.”

He screwed up his face in disbelief. “In Citysville?”

Lilith smirked. “It’s a culinary vacation.”

***

_That’s enough_.

Boomer stopped petting the cat. He watched despondently as it shook itself, then scampered off, back to its owner’s lap. They both stared at him, two sets of green eyes glowing.

_Stand up_.

He stood up. The woman grinned.

_Good boy_.

“Thank you,” he said.

She tilted her head in a direction. “Be a dear and put on some music, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and walked to a record player sitting next to the bar.

_Why is there a bar down here?_

_So we can have drinks_ , said the voice.

_Oh_ , Boomer thought. _Of course._ He started flipping through the LP’s.

***

Brick took in the bin one of the ladies was holding out for him. It was full to brimming with cell phones, all manner of shapes and sizes. He cast a look at her and Lilith.

“Jesus. How much have you been eating?”

The woman holding the bin for him rolled her eyes. “Honey, please. We’re on vacation. The calories don’t count.”

He picked through, located his, and pocketed it.

“Uh, thanks.” He couldn’t remember this one’s name. Lilith had run down the line, but none of them had stuck.

Lilith watched as he powered up his phone, not even remotely distracted by the bevy of supernatural women in his vicinity.

“You know, we could help with that,” she offered.

“What? The—” Brick cut off, remembering what the other demon had said. _There’s someone in there._ “Oh. That.”

“I mean, unless you want her there.”

“I don’t—I mean, it’s not.” Brick slumped, the residual exhaustion weighing on him. “I don’t know.”

“You’re very conflicted.”

“I’m dealing with it.”

“Mm, and very well, at that.”

_We’ll get her out of there_. Brick didn’t want her there. He didn’t. At least…

“You’re considering,” Lilith said, and he looked up. This was ridiculous.

“The price point’s a little high for me.”

Lilith laughed, a pearl in a sea of black, suffocating ink. “Can’t argue there. I know a woman’s worth.”

***

Butch collided with another body as he bolted down the stairs, nearly eating concrete.

The stranger clung to him, eyes wide with fear and relief. “Oh, thank Christ! Another person!”

Butch quickly assessed him, immediately determined he was going to be completely useless, and whirled on the crowd of kids. He was really sick of running.

A swarm of gray-eyed children were advancing upon them. The dead weight was blubbering the usual nonsense about being stuck and never getting out of here and ohmygodwe’regonnadie—

“Are there any rules about punching kids?” Butch interrupted.

The dude stopped babbling, caught off guard. “What?”

“Never mind,” Butch said, and started punching.

***

“Hey.” One of the demons that had been lounging out on the balcony poked her head into the room. “That chick we saw in your head just drove up.”

Brick’s eyes widened. “What?” he said, unable to help himself, then mentally cursed and darted a look at Lilith. She was smirking at him. Ugh, damn it.

“Sounds like she’s looking for you,” the succubus said, holding a hand to the back of her ear.

Brick jumped to his feet. “I should go.”

“Yes, don’t keep her waiting,” Lilith purred.

“Or let her _come up here_ ,” Brick said sternly. “This is a room full of succubi and half-dead men. She’s a superhero.”

“This hotel is full of guests who spend thousands of dollars on sneakers and couldn’t tell you how much a banana costs, Brick,” Lilith said patiently. “Do you really think they’d just let a high school student with zero connection to the hotel or any of its guests up to the penthouse?”

“Bye, Lilith. Good catching up.”

“You’re supposed to call me Auntie!”

He waved her off, trying not to trip over the bodies on his way out the door. Lilith’s horde paused their feeding just long enough to watch him go.

One of them said, “Bye—”

He shut the door. The horde exchanged glances.

“What a rude boy.”

“You’d think he’d have some manners, considering his Father.”

“He threatened to _punch_ me when I was abducting him.”

The other succubi gasped.

“Yes, he’s a jerk, ladies,” Lilith said, appearing at the door. “But he’s also just a kid.”

“I’ll say.”

“Do you think she’s his girlfriend?”

“Definitely not. Why else would he be so angry?”

“Girl came to find him, though.”

One of the succubi jumped to her feet. “I’m gonna snoop.”

The rest of them followed suit.

“You shouldn’t snoop,” Lilith said, with little conviction as they all assumed their human disguises.

“Well, we owe him a proper goodbye, at least.”

***

Brick jogged out of the elevators, which opened dramatically onto the immense lobby. He could already see Blossom, busy trying to wrestle information out of the very disinterested concierge.

“You don’t understand,” she said, waggling her phone at him. “I have his location right—”

“Hey,” he said, coming to a stop behind her. She whipped around, eyes wide.

“Hey!” She pocketed her phone and shot the concierge a glare, who rolled his eyes and busied himself with some very important standing around at the other end of the counter. “How’d you wind up all the way over here?”

“I—”

“Bye, Brick!”

“See you around!”

“Come back and visit!”

Brick cringed, not daring to turn around. Blossom furrowed her brow and leaned to the side to peek past Brick’s shoulder. He didn’t have to turn to know what she was looking at: A pack of strikingly beautiful women (who wouldn’t mind their own _damn business_ ) peering out of an elevator and waving at Brick.

“Who are they?”

Brick waved a hand behind him, feebly. “Friends of the family.”

“‘Friends of the’—what were you doing up there?”

“It’s a long story,” Brick said. “But it wasn’t our lady. What about Mike?”

“Boomer found him. Buttercup and Bubbles are heading their way. We came to get you. Hurry, the Professor’s about to get ticketed.”

As they left, Brick threw a parting glare over his shoulder. The girls smiled and waved, then turned to one another as the elevator doors shut.

“She’s cute!”

“Terrible taste, though.”

“I don’t know,” the one who had captured him said. “The mouthful I got when I grabbed him was pretty delicious.”

“Ugh, I’m so jealous,” one of them whined, playing at hitting her friend. “I wish he hadn’t been a relation of Lilith’s.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened on a solitary man, who paused as he took in the box brimming with beautiful women.

They smiled as one unit at him, and he grinned back.

“Must be my lucky night,” he said, winking as he entered the elevator.

“Must be,” the chorus sang, their eyes darkening as the doors closed.

***

Buttercup paused just before they turned down the street that would take them to the nearby residential area that Boomer had texted them. She grabbed at Bubbles’ arm. “Holy shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

She pointed. “Guess who.”

Butch hobbled towards them, some dude clinging to his leg. “ _Will you two help get this fucker off of me?_ ”

The girls dashed over. Bubbles immediately pried the stranger off of Butch’s leg and coaxed him away.

“Fuckin’ _thank you,_ ” Butch said, shaking his leg out.

“Good timing,” Buttercup said. “Boomer found Mike.”

“Shut up!”

“We’re heading over there now. Come on.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask what happened to me?” Butch said as they started jogging away.

“Did something happen to you?”

The guy they left behind screeched in fear as a costumed child walked by.

***

Five minutes later Bubbles was staring up at the dilapidated apartment building that sat at 10 Sugarplastic Drive, ominous in the moonlight. It seemed to sway against the night sky, looming over her. As if it were leaning in to inspect its prey.

“This side of the street looks abandoned,” Buttercup said.

“Same on this side,” Butch said.

Bubbles studied the directory, then punched a button at random. It didn’t even buzz.

The Professor honked as he pulled up, and soon he, Blossom, and Brick had joined Buttercup and Bubbles at the door. Butch had backed up a good ten feet away, encouraged by the Professor’s glare.

“Any luck?” Blossom asked.

“Not really,” Bubbles said. “I think it’s a puzzle. You should get in here. I don’t have the right head for them.”

_***_

_Hey._

Boomer continued flipping through the records.

_Hey. Kid._

Boomer grunted. He pulled one record case out, flipped it over to study it for a second, then set it down and resumed his flipping.

“What’s taking so long?” the woman said.

“Hold on,” Boomer said, reaching the end of the stack and starting over from the beginning. “I’m trying to find something good.”

“Just put something on.”

“No, it’s—you need the right mood music. I have a whole philosophy about this—”

“Mike.”

Mike stilled the feather duster in his hand and looked up. “Yes, ma’am?”

The woman gestured. “Pick a record.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mike headed over to relinquish Boomer of his task, but Boomer grabbed the shelf and pulled it away from Mike.

“I’m almost done! I’m almost done. I’ve narrowed it down to, like, ten—”

“Ten?!” she cried.

“Yes! I just—Jesus, Mike, lay off—”

“I think you should play with the kitty some more,” she said, grabbing the cat and stalking over.

“No no no! I’m picking, I’m picking! Let me pick!” He backed away frantically, hunching over the records protectively.

“Play with the kitty,” two voices said, one high, one low, and Boomer paused. One of the boys was apparently loaded with testosterone.

“Who said that?”

“Play with the kitty,” the woman said again, and the cat punctuated this with a _mreow._

“In a second! Okay, Mike, seriously, stop touching me. This body is reserved for Bubbles—”

“Bubbles?” Mike stopped, his pupils dilating. The consciousness, the _awe_ in his voice sent a frosty chill through Boomer, and he narrowed his gaze.

“Bubbles?!” The woman and cat had gone stock still, and she threw the cat aside and grabbed Boomer by the shirt, upsetting the records.

“Hey! Careful!”

“Bubbles the _Powerpuff Girl?!_ ” she said in his face, her eyes ablaze.

He beamed. “You know her?! Yeah! She’s my girlfriend!”

“ _What?!_ ” the cat shouted, and Boomer did a double-take.

“ _Holy shit you can talk?!_ ”

She threw him aside. “We gotta get out of here.”

Boomer scrambled to his feet, still holding the record shelf. “Wait! Don’t! You should, uh, hang out!”

“Boys! Start packing the valuables!”

“Yes, ma’am,” a chorus of voices resounded.

Boomer grabbed at one of his record selects and hastily slid it out of its casing so he could start it up.

“And you.”

He managed to drop the needle and flipped the switch to hold it in place before something came flying out of the woman’s head and locked around his throat.

***

“We could just break down the door,” Butch said.

“Great minds,” Buttercup said.

The Professor squinted. “Some of these are not like the others. Faraday, Planck, Newton…”

“They’re scientists,” Blossom and Brick said, then exchanged a glance.

“Of course you nerds would know that,” Buttercup said.

“And von Heisenberg,” the Professor finished. His eyebrows lifted. “Let me try something.”

“Be careful, Professor,” Bubbles said, and he held a finger up to gently shush her as he hummed under his breath, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Newton,” he murmured, and pressed the corresponding soundless button. “Faraday. Von Heisenberg. And Planck.”

As he connected with the fourth button, the locking mechanism released, and everybody turned as the door opened for them. Instead of a foyer, it revealed a dark staircase leading down.

“Well done, Professor!” Blossom said, her face illuminating with pride.

“Oh, Professor, you’re a genius!” Bubbles threw her arms around his shoulders for a squeeze.

“Not a genius, honey. Just a scientist. Who listens to music occasionally.”

Buttercup edged to the front and tilted her head.

“Don’t hear nothing,” she said, activating the flashlight on her cell. “Let’s go.”

***

“Huh,” Boomer choked out as he tried to loosen the binds around his neck. “You’re not nearly as old as they said you were.”

Those green eyes flared. “Are you trying to get me to strangle you faster?”

Her platinum tresses were gone. In their place was a dark, writhing mass with a life of its own, one long tendril stretched towards him and wrapped taut around his windpipe.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he wheezed.

“Who cares?” she growled, and the binds tightened.

Boomer grimaced, then stabbed at the _Start_ button on the record player with his shoe. If he was going to get strangled to death, he was going to have some bgm going, damn it.

The speakers popped. He realized his folly almost immediately—this record was great, but the first track was a quiet, slow starter. Shit. E.L.O. had been his second choice. That would’ve been some badass music to die to.

“They’re at the door!” The cat came whipping around the fairy-light corner, panicked. “They’ll be here any second!”

“Damn it,” the woman muttered, and released Boomer so she could snatch a couple of the duffels the boys had packed for her. He hit the ground, gasping. She yanked at one of the dangling light bulbs, and the panel of wood it was attached to popped open.

“How many secret exits does this place have?” Boomer groaned, rubbing at his throat.

She snapped a cuff around her wrist and aimed her arm upwards. A grappling hook shot out of it, into the darkness.

“Wait for me!” the cat pleaded, attempting a jump.

“You’re on your own, furball,” the woman said, and disappeared with a _whirr_ into the shaft.

The cat missed grabbing onto her by that much, and landed on Boomer’s chest.

“Gotcha! _Ow! Wait!_ ”

The cat swiped and squirmed out of Boomer’s grasp. “Attack!”

“No! Don’t attack!” Boomer said, wincing at the scratches on his face. “Everybody just chill or something!”

The boys turned to Boomer and started advancing as the kitty got away.

“Oh, come on, guys,” he said, thumping his arms against his sides. “You don’t want to get in a fight with me.”

A couple of them dove, and he sidestepped them. Another threw a very blockable punch, but without the X, Boomer had to flap his hand to ride out the discomfort.

He cranked up the volume on the speakers. “Okay, fine. This isn’t exactly rumble music,” he announced to the room, settling into a fighting stance. “But I guess it’ll have to do.”

***

The lights on Blossom and Buttercup’s cells bobbed as they paused in the corridor.

“I hear something,” Blossom said.

Bubbles furrowed her brow, their father’s hand in hers. “It’s music.”

Brick tilted his head. “ _Old_ music.”

“Simon and Garfunkel isn’t _that_ old,” the Professor said, a little defensively.

This was punctuated by a series of crashes. The group exchanged glances, then all broke into a run.

***

The harem of high school boys was not much of a hindrance on the combat side, but still pretty annoying. Boomer shoved a few guys around before saying, “Aw, fuck it,” and began to throw a few punches of his own. He got most of them rolling around on the ground with a well-placed liver jab before an arm suddenly crooked itself around his neck and yanked him into a chokehold.

“Mike, man, for fuck’s sake!”

Boomer grabbed his arm and immediately dropped, throwing Mike over his shoulders. Mike’s back _thwack_ ed against the ground. Boomer pinned him and drew back his fist. The music swelled; it was the climax of the song and the energy of it pulsed through Boomer, a perfect soundtrack.

Mike lifted his head, his eyes widening in recognition, but before he could say a word Boomer punched him in the face.

“Oops,” Boomer said flatly, and popped back up onto his feet. “Now where did that cat go?”

“Boomer?!”

His chest soared at the sound of Bubbles’ voice, and he ran for the tunnel, arms spread as wide as his grin. The group rounded the corner, and he collided into Brick.

“Gah,” they said in unison, swiping each other away, and Boomer adjusted course for Bubbles.

She wrapped him up in a hug. “Oh, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me—” Boomer caught Professor Utonium’s eye and froze.

“What happened here?” Butch said, taking in the room full of groaning teenagers, most of them clutching their abdomens.

Boomer filled them in as Blossom and the Professor went around checking the victims for injuries. The girls and the Professor paused when Boomer got to the woman and the talking cat.

“Sedusa was here?” Buttercup said.

Boomer snapped and pointed. “Oh! That’s who that was! I knew I knew her from somewhere!”

“We know that cat, too.” Blossom swept her attention around the room. “Looks like they were working together to steal all this stuff.”

“But why all the boys?” Buttercup said. “Were they doing the stealing?”

Boomer shook his head. “These guys were literally just, like, cleaning and stuff.”

“She was abducting teenage boys to buttle for her?” Blossom asked in disbelief.

Butch snorted. “Buttle.”

“Where’s Mike?” Bubbles asked.

Mike groaned from the direction of the bar in response, and Bubbles and Blossom gasped, dashing over.

“Mike!”

“Are you okay? Can you sit up?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, easing up into a sitting position with one hand held to an eye.

Blossom went investigative. “Do you remember what happened? How you got here?”

“No. I don’t. At least… I don’t think so? Everything’s all fuzzy. Where’s Robin’s corsage?”

“Homecoming’s over, man,” Butch said. “It’s Halloween.”

Mike’s head snapped to Butch’s, his hand pulling away from his face. “What?!”

“Oh my God, your eye’s all puffy,” Bubbles said, leaning in and gently brushing some of Mike’s hair away from his face. Boomer’s skin went electric, but settled as Bubbles turned to him. “How did that happen?”

He stared for a second, then tucked his chin and pulled back, a little sheepish. “My fault. They told the guys to move on me, and I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike interrupted, waving him off. “You did what you had to do. I’m sorry for pushing you. Or… whatever it was I did.”

“You don’t even remember anything,” Bubbles said, her brow knit tight.

“Doesn’t matter whether I remember or not. I did something, didn’t I?”

Blossom took over, peering into Mike’s face and gently moving Bubbles aside. “Your nose isn’t bleeding, so that’s a good sign. Are you seeing double?”

Boomer took the opportunity to wrap his arm around Bubbles’ waist and pull her close as Mike said, “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Boomer whispered into his girlfriend’s hair.

“No, it’s… it’s okay,” she said, a little stiffly. “I just wish you’d been more careful.”

Brick’s eyes were fixed on him. Boomer stared levelly back.

His leader sighed and turned his attention to Mike and Blossom. “We better get some ice on that. You’re gonna have a hell of a shiner in a couple of days.” Then, without turning around, “Butch. Put it all back.”

Butch, who had been surreptitiously pocketing the smaller valuables, froze. “No, man, I was just gonna. You know. Transport it for safekeeping.”

“No sign of the cat,” Buttercup said, emerging from the doorway leading to the bath. “But I found a whole wig collection in there. Explains how she looked eighty on the security cams.”

“Let’s run out and call the police,” Bubbles said, prying herself away from Boomer. “We can’t get any reception down here. Professor, would you help me with Mike?”

“I can walk,” Mike said, but Bubbles kept his arm around her shoulders on the way out anyway. Boomer stared at them.

“What’s with all the booze in here?” Buttercup said.

“I think it’s an old speakeasy,” Brick said.

“Where were _you_ guys this whole time?” Boomer asked.

Butch rolled his eyes. “Mall. Where I got attacked. By a bunch of possessed ghost kids or something.”

“That sounds pretty hard to believe,” Blossom said.

“You realize we dealt with a magic zombie who thought you were the little girl that inadvertently killed him when we were kids, right?” Buttercup said.

Boomer tossed his head at their leader. “What about you, Brick?”

“I ran into Aunt Lilith. I got mistakenly snatched up by one of her horde to feed on. She’s on vacation with her coven.”

Butch’s jaw dropped.

“‘Coven?’” Buttercup looked at him. “What do you mean, coven?”

“I… mean a bunch of her girlfriends,” Brick corrected.

“ _What?!_ ” Butch shrieked. “How is it that _you_ join a boy harem, and _you_ get abducted by sex-crazed demons, but _I_ wind up with the children of the fucking corn?!”

“Wait,” Blossom said, frowning. “Those women were all succubi?”

“You saying you _want_ to get eaten by sex-starved demons with your aunt watching?” Brick asked.

Butch stared at his leader as if he had just asked him the stupidest question in the universe.

“Is this place a Hellmouth or something?” Buttercup asked. She paused. “That _would_ explain a lot.”

***

Giving their report to the Citysville Police was a remarkably painless process. Between the standard Halloween mischief, several prank calls reporting attacks by gray-eyed children, and the seven teenage boys that suddenly needed to be returned home, the CVPD had their hands full. After Boomer gave a description of the suspect (at Brick’s advice he left out the living hair and talking cat details), the department agreed to let the group take Mike home.

Bubbles piled into the car with the Professor and Mike to keep them company. Boomer rode with them, braving the Professor’s icy front passenger seat.

“I’m gonna walk,” Buttercup announced, and took off before anyone could protest. Butch automatically followed her. Blossom took one look at the taxi rates for Halloween and opted to walk, too, trailing behind Buttercup and Butch.

She didn’t exchange any words with Brick. It caught her off guard when she glanced over her shoulder to find him following them on foot, just a few paces behind.

The sounds of celebration gradually faded, and before long they were at the bridge connecting Citysville and Townsville. She stared up at the superstructure, finding it familiar and sad.

Blossom took a deep breath and deliberately slowed. The thought that he might follow suit to maintain their distance crossed her mind, but no—he kept his pace, and within seconds she found herself matching her steps to his. Another deep breath.

“Thank you for the help.”

They walked in silence for a moment.

“Sure. I mean… it wound up being kind of useless, I guess. Boomer was the one that found him.”

“That’s true.” She clasped her hands behind her back, eyes skipping from one crack in the sidewalk to the next, on and on. “I guess I shouldn’t have rescheduled that trip.”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have.”

She shut her eyes and tried to stave off the jolt of irritation that shot through her. God, why did he have to be like this?

“You. You should.” He scratched at his head and adjusted his cap. “You should get to live the life you want. I mean, whatever, it’s just a college visit. But you should, you know. It’s your life. You don’t owe anybody anything.”

She stared at the walkway of the bridge, listening to his footfalls next to hers. She thought about Townsville, about Mike and Robin and their friends, about her father and her sisters. Graduation loomed, and beyond it, college and the inevitability of an adult life. Her adult life. It was too early for her to see where and how everything fit. Too early and too terrifying. She had only ever known a Townsville that needed her and her sisters’ care. To even entertain the thought of leaving filled her with a guilt that sank into her stomach like a stone.

“You can’t save everybody,” Brick said, echoing a line from before, and it pulled her out of her thoughts, out of her head. “Or, well, you shouldn’t feel that way.”

She sighed. “We have—”

“An obligation. Right. But you shouldn’t feel obligated. You didn’t sign up for this. Everybody else gets a chance to choose. You should, too.”

The wind picked up, ruffling the fabric of her shirt and sending her hair billowing behind her. She looked up into the night sky, wanting to disagree and, at the same time, touched that he cared enough to say it.

Townsville was approaching, the landscape of the city—her city, her _home_ —unfurling before them. It was too early to see.

_Brick, too_.

She looked at him, finally. His eyes were trained on the city as well, his face its usual serious self and his hands shoved in the pockets of a letter jacket that looked perfect on him. She wished it looked less perfect. She wished.

“Thanks, Brick.”

***

“You enjoy your date?”

Butch preened. “Are you kidding? We held _hands_.”

Buttercup snorted.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“I think Blossom would rather dip her hands in battery acid.”

“Shows how much you know.” Butch bumped her with his shoulder. “What about _your_ date?”

“ _Mine_ wasn’t a date.”

“ _Lame_.”

“We got pissed at each other and split. I hung out with my dad while Brick went—”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me,” Butch muttered, casting a glare behind him. Blossom had drifted farther back and was walking next to his brother. His glare subsided, and he faced forward again, his eyes hitching on Buttercup’s hand, bouncing on her thigh as they walked.

“So I had a great time,” she said.

He stared into the distance for a second before responding. “But I got some action.”

She snorted again. “Hand-holding counts as action for you? Fool, I’ve held your hand, too!”

Butch looked at her face. She stared straight ahead, smirking.

“Oh, shit. That means I’ve gotten action with _two_ sisters!”

The smirk drooped into a groan.

“Now I just need one more to complete the set—”

“Gross,” she announced, laughing as she shoved at him. “Gross and dumb.”

He twisted his arms up to deflect, and her hands slid through his. He pulled away, electricity shooting through his chest.

_Fuck._

He glanced at her hand again, now pulling at a loose thread on her jeans. He thought for a second, then looked away and crossed his arms, but that felt stupid, so he jammed his hands into his pockets instead.

He wanted to tell her that his not-date had sucked, that Blossom hadn’t fit against him the same way, that he had completely forgotten about holding her hands until Buttercup had asked.

It hadn’t felt the same. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t even angry about it.

His hands worked at the inner lining of his pockets. Buttercup’s hand continued to swing gently in time with the steady pulse of her step as they walked home.

_-end ch10a-_


	14. I Was Sinking And Now I'm Sunk, or The Stupid Way You Make Me Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving forward these chapters are going up here, at AO3, at least a week in advance of FFNet.
> 
> Thanks to Arrows for working through some mad times to help get this done!
> 
> TW/CW: Sex-adjacent stuff happening here; makeouts and heavy petting ahead.

**More Than Human, Pt. 2 – Senior Fall Semester  
November – ** **I W** **as** **Sinking And Now I'm** **Sunk,** **or The Stupid Way You Make Me Feel**

_-sbj-_

The tossing and turning woke Bubbles up. She laid there as she slowly came to, listening to Blossom on her side of the room as she tried to get comfortable. Octi was tucked under her chin, a small comfort in the dark. She would've offered him to Blossom if she'd thought he would actually help her get to sleep.

For a minute it sounded like Blossom had gotten settled, and Bubbles sighed, relieved. But then the rustling started up again. Bubbles ventured a glance over her shoulder to see where her sister was. Blossom's back was turned to her as she faced the wall and kicked the sheets around, settled again for a while, then resumed fidgeting.

Bubbles watched for a little longer, then finally eased out into the unwelcome chill of their room and made her way to the foot of Blossom's bed. The shadow she cast on the wall warned Blossom of her approach, and Blossom turned and sat up, apologetic.

“Sorry, I—what are you doing?”

Bubbles grabbed the foot of her sister's bed and lifted it off the floor, resettling it so it faced the room the way it did when they were kids. She then picked up her own and flew it over, lining it up next to Blossom's. The seam didn't line up quite evenly, but she wriggled over it anyway, throwing an arm across Blossom's collarbone and sighing. Octi got crushed between them, but he didn't seem to mind.

Blossom laid there in silence for a while, then pulled Bubbles' duvet up over her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Bubbles whispered cheerily as she got tucked in.

Suddenly another shadow loomed over Blossom's other side, and both of them looked up to find Buttercup setting her own bed down.

“You two suck,” Buttercup muttered, getting into bed and resting her head on Blossom's shoulder. “Leaving me out of this shit. Bitches.”

“Stop that,” Blossom scolded.

“Never.”

“Shhh,” Bubbles hushed, flapping her hand at Buttercup and smacking her in the face.

“Ow! For real, Bubbles?”

“Sorry. I was just trying to grab your shoulder or something.”

“I can't remember the last time our beds faced the room like this,” Blossom said.

“Long time,” Buttercup said.

“Fourth grade,” Bubbles mumbled. “We tried our own rooms at first. I hated that.”

“Because you were scared of the dark,” Buttercup said.

“No.” Bubbles shook her head into Blossom's shoulder. “I was scared of being alone.”

There was a long silence. Bubbles eventually felt Buttercup's arm settling over hers, wrapping Blossom in a pseudo-double-embrace. She smiled.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

Blossom shifted.

“You want me to come with?” Buttercup asked. “I got a test tomorrow right when you visit your first one. The timing is great.”

“Not funny, Buttercup. Go to school.”

“They’re all going to _love_ you. You’re so smart!”

“It’s not the colleges I’m worried about,” Blossom said.

The three of them laid there in silence.

“Oh,” Bubbles said.

“How dare you insult us,” Buttercup said.

“It’s not you I’m worried about either, girls.”

Silence again.

Buttercup huffed out a breath. “We’re all gonna have to leave this place sometime.”

“Not me,” Bubbles said. “I’m buying a house next to the Professor. It’ll have a room just like ours.”

“That’s stupid. What’s the point of having a room in a house next door that’s identical to this one? Only creeps would do that.”

“I’m not a creep.”

“Creep. Creepy creeper.”

“ _Enough_.” Blossom sighed. “We need to get some sleep.”

“They’re going to love you, Blossom.”

“Okay.”

“And we got Townsville covered.”

“I know you do. But… you can always call me if—”

“We’ll call to wish you a happy birthday and that’s it,” Bubbles said.

“But bring us back some cool birthday souvenirs,” Buttercup said. “Not socks or pens or crap like that. I want something good.”

“Like what?”

Buttercup thought for a second. “A flask.”

“ _Absolutely not_.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Bubbles said.

“I’ll only fill it with water. I just want to look cool.”

“You’re already cool,” Blossom said.

A beat passed.

“Aww,” Bubbles said.

“Thanks, Red.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another beat.

“I still want a flask, though—”

“ _No. Go to sleep.”_

***

“When does she get back?” Boomer swung their arms back and forth a little as they flew.

“End of the month. Just about. She'll be back in time for Thanksgiving, but she'll miss our birthday.” Her disappointment was evident, though she tried to cover it up. “So we’ll celebrate afterwards.” She pointed below them. “There, that one.”

“I won't miss your birthday.”

“You'd better not.” They landed in the driveway, and Bubbles pulled him towards Mike's house.

His mom opened the door, and Boomer hung back while the two of them exchanged pleasantries. He waved and smiled when introduced, and she led them to the living room, where Mike laid on the couch, threatening to nod off with a history book propped on his chest.

He caught sight of Bubbles and Boomer and brightened. “Oh, thank God, a distraction.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Bubbles said, ruffling his hair as he sat up. “Hard at work, I see.”

“It's hard work working hard,” Mike agreed. He jerked his head at Boomer. “Hey, man, sit down.”

Boomer would've, but Bubbles had perched herself on the arm of the couch, and Mike was at her end, leaving only the spot on his other side open. He took in the scene for a second, then opted to move behind the couch.

“I'm good,” he said. “I've been sitting all day.”

Mike's mom interrupted for a second with some sodas for everyone.

“Oh, you still get the glass bottles,” Bubbles said. “You're so retro.”

“Are you kidding? Mom hasn't gotten these in forever. If nothing else, the silver lining of going through last week is me getting back my favorite soda containment units.”

Boomer couldn't contribute much to the conversation, so he worked on his soda while Bubbles chatted with Mike about Blossom’s trip. He traced the edges of his bottle as he nursed it, trying not to look bored. Bubbles' hand went to Mike's shoulder and squeezed. Boomer's hand closed around the glass neck.

He looked over at Mike’s living room window. It faced southwest, so it was receiving a good bit of afternoon light. A round mirror hanging on the opposite wall reflected even more light into the room, illuminating a gallery wall of family photos.

_Mike’s an only child_. Boomer wondered what that was like. Between the expansive window, the framed photos, the mirror, and a set of cabinets to Boomer’s left, there was a decent amount of glass in here. An earthquake would be a real problem. There’d be no way to get out of this room without cutting yourself on something.

_Well_ , Boomer thought, tapping his drink against his teeth. _You could keep your hands to yourself. Wear shoes._

He glanced at Mike’s socked feet. Maybe he had a pair under his bed. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about earthquakes in Townsville.

_Fires would still be a problem_. Yeah, you wouldn’t want to run through a fire barefoot.

_Or someone could come into the house_. _Easily_. Boomer had shut the door behind them when they arrived; the front door was not heavy. It wasn’t old hardwood, or metal-clad; it was one of those cheap newer ones, made out of wood laminate. That shit would splinter after one kick, even without superpowers. But Mike was an athlete. Maybe he had a baseball bat in his room or something. Maybe he’d put up a decent fight.

Boomer looked at the staircase. He wondered how many rooms were up there.

“You should tell them that.” Bubbles’ voice cut through Boomer’s concentration like a bell dispersing spirits, and he looked at her, trying to remember what they had been talking about. He racked his brain for an appropriate response and settled on a nod and a small smile, which disappeared the instant her attention was back on Mike.

“How’s your eye?”

“Fine. Getting me lots of attention and special treatment, actually.” Mike angled his bottle towards Boomer in an approximation of a toast. “So thanks.”

Boomer stared at the mark his fist had left on Mike’s face, a mass of purple and yellow that swallowed his eye shut. Almost pretty, in a weird way. Too bad it wouldn’t be permanent.

“Anytime.”

***

_Quiet week_ , Brick thought as he stared at his cafeteria tray. He had not agreed to this, but Bubbles had ambushed him while he was distracted by his phone in the hall and instead of the solitary lunch period he was accustomed to, today he found himself flanked by Boomer and Buttercup in the noisy Townsville High cafeteria. He realized the decibel level of the room made his thought particularly ludicrous, but then he remembered they weren’t even halfway through the week yet.

_Quiet two days_ , he corrected himself.

The cafeteria was especially bad today, because someone infamous had returned to Townsville.

“I am _so jealous,_ ” Bubbles moaned as she zeroed in on Princess' outfit.

“You have a skirt,” Boomer pointed out. “More than one, even.”

“None like that one.” She sighed wistfully. “And she's styled it so nicely! I mean, she dressed expensive before, but now it's like all that time in Paris gave her a crash course in styling outfits. And I can’t believe she straightened her hair! But it’s a super cute look—”

“I'm sorry,” Buttercup said, looking around. “Did I sit at the Boners for Princess table by mistake today? I'm trying to eat.”

“I wonder how much those shoes cost,” Bubbles said, her eyes glazed. “I need them.”

“I can go get them for you,” Boomer said, a purposeful look in his eye. He started to stand.

“No you don't,” Bubbles ordered, grasping him by the belt loops on his jeans and yanking him back down. “Besides, she's not my size anyway. I already checked.”

“So this is serious,” Buttercup said. “You're seriously going to sit here and talk about Princess during my food time.”

Brick’s phone chirruped. He pushed his attention to it, hesitating when he saw Morbucks’ name. Tension coiled in his stomach as he tapped on her text. Then he simply stared in apoplectic disgust at his screen.

“Oh _no_ ,” he said, his guttural groan drawing everyone else’s attention.

“What is it, Brick?” Bubbles asked.

He ignored her and directed his gaze to Princess, who nattered on to her followers, oblivious to her mother’s machinations.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

***

_The things I do to get by_.

Sunday morning found Brick sitting in the Morbucks' aptly named sitting room for nearly an hour as he repeated this mantra to himself. When Princess finally made it down the stairs, the mantra was all that kept him from shaking some punctuality into her.

“Your mother told me you wanted me here at ten,” he snapped.

“Oh, good.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “You got here on time.”

Brick hoped that the universe was taking note of his immense self-control, considering he knew several ways to kill her on the spot, powers or no.

His temper subsided a bit when they got to the garage and he discovered his own personal Christmas. The car collection was _magnificent_ , and Brick was compelled by a little red speedster with no roof. He snatched the corresponding keys from a wall of hooks by the door and floated towards it in a trance.

“Let's take that one,” he said, the car beckoning him ever onward.

“Let's take this one,” Princess said over him, and he turned to see her standing next to an SUV. He stared at her for a second, then looked back at the convertible. Then back at the SUV. Then back to the convertible.

This went on for about half a minute more before he said, “I’m not getting in that ugly piece of shit.”

“That one doesn't have enough trunk space! Or a backseat, even!”

“It's a _convertible_. It doesn't _need_ either of those things.”

“Well, _I_ need something to hold all my shopping bags. We're taking this one.”

Brick was twitching something crazy. “Why isn't your mother making you drive yourself?”

“Get in the car,” Princess called, already seated on the passenger's side.

Brick sighed and hung the keys back on the wall. He floated to the driver's side of the SUV and deposited himself in the front seat.

“Give me the keys.” He held his hand out to Princess.

“I don't have them, you idiot.”

Brick's eyes darted back over to the wall by the door. He took one slow, deliberate breath, then kicked the door open to go get them.

As soon as he'd started the car Princess punched in the first address on the GPS. It pulled up some high-end clothing store in downtown Townsville.

“Spend nearly a year in Paris and you still want to go shopping in Townsville,” he muttered as they pulled out of the garage into the hazy November sunlight.

She scoffed. “ _Duh_. It's not like I'm expecting much. But what else am I going to do for fun in this stupid place?”

“Stay at home and not drive anywhere. You know, there's this thing. It's called a television! I think you have, like, ten of them in that labyrinth you call home.”

Princess hit the button for the radio. Music started blasting through the speakers.

Brick punched it off. “Absolutely not.”

“You're not the boss.” She punched it on.

“If I'm driving, I say what goes on the radio. And I say, Nothing.” He punched it off.  
  
“That's not how it works.” Princess punched it on.

Brick punched it off.

Princess punched it on.

This continued for the duration of their entire drive, earning them several confused glances at every stoplight. When they pulled up front and got out to let the valet park the car, Princess reached back in and punched the radio on. Brick paused, waiting for her to pass him into the store, then dashed back, dove in through the passenger seat, and punched it off.

“You've asked for it, pretty boy,” she said darkly, then snapped her fingers at a salesgirl standing just inside the door. “One of everything in the store to my dressing room.”

“ _What?!_ ” Brick cried.

“And don't forget the accessories,” Princess continued, handing the salesgirl her bag. She simpered at Brick. “You might as well get comfortable.”

He glared at her. “Bitch.”

“Traitor.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Figure it out,” she growled, then left to park herself in her fitting room.

***

“You think Brick is having a fun time?” Buttercup asked, and Butch looked at her. She was laying in front of the boys' couch, her back on the floor and her legs bent up, calves resting on the seat cushions.

He eyed her suspiciously. “What do you mean, 'fun time?' Are you trying to torture me?”

“ _Please_. I didn't mean that. Just 'cause he can get any girl he wants doesn't mean—”

“Okay, yeah, you're _definitely_ trying to torture me,” Butch interrupted. “Some friend you are.”

“You don't even bother taking a girl's personality into account. If Princess' looks were as shitty as her attitude, you'd change your tune.”

“Would you say that about Blossom?”

“'Course I wouldn't. Besides, Blossom's attitude is waaaaay better than Princess' attitude.” She nodded at the screen. “Watch. This dude's about to get a nail in the face from a girl with a machine gun for an arm.”

They watched a dude get a nail in the face from a girl with a machine gun for an arm.

“Man, Japan,” Butch said, shaking his head. “That country makes _art_.”

“How does she get that thing to fire, anyway? That doesn't make any sense. Hey, get me a soda?”

“Get your own.”

“I'm the guest.”

He gave an exaggerated groan as he rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen. A few seconds later a bottle came jettisoning out towards her, and she caught it without moving from her position on the floor.

“Happy now?” Butch sat next to her with his back to the couch.

“Thank you, manslave,” she said, twisting it open, then quickly closing it to let the bubbles die down.

“If I'm the manslave, where're your whips and handcuffs?”

“I can't just walk around out in the open with that shit. Girl's gotta be discreet about these things.”

“Are you actually going to try and drink that thing from down there?”

“Well, now you've challenged me and I _have_ to do it.” She laughed, opening the bottle fully now. “Don't fuck me up.”

She lifted her head off the floor and tilted the bottle to her lips, her eyes sending a warning to Butch. He simply watched. She managed to get at the lip of the bottle without spilling anything and pumped her fist at him triumphantly as she drank. Suddenly his hand snapped up to tap the bottom of the bottle, and she sputtered as she pulled it away.

“You fucker!” she gasped, coughing and hacking as she sat upright. “You just made me breathe soda!”

He shrugged. “You challenged me. I had to do it.”

“Dick.”

“The biggest!”

“I believe it,” she muttered.

“Oh? You sure you don't wanna see for yourself?”

Buttercup responded by punching him in the crotch.

“Ha,” he squeaked as he curled up in pain. “You just touched it.”

“Fuck off.” She laughed, shoving him away from her with her feet.

Butch remained where he was on the floor as the pain slowly subsided. Her eyes were back on the television, and she took a sip of her soda. He laid there for a few seconds longer, then sat up and edged next to her.

“You're making me thirsty, drinking that thing,” he said.

“So go get one.”

“Can't. You got the last one.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. You should've said.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. You're hanging out a lot lately.”

_With me_ , he thought. They'd spent nearly every afternoon for the past couple of weeks together. They'd hung out with the rest of the group more in the beginning, but she had taken to sticking around after the guys left, and a few days ago she'd stopped calling them at all and just started showing up on her own.

She picked at the label on the bottle. “Yeah… I guess. It's quiet at home.”

“You're only missing one person, aren't you?”

“Yeah. But I guess it makes a difference. Plus the Professor. I mean, he wanted to take some time off to spend with us at home, but we want him around for Thanksgiving and Christmas, so we told him not to. Me and Bubbles, I mean.”

Butch looked around at the empty apartment. Brick was out with Princess, and Boomer was out with Bubbles.

“It's kinda quiet here, too,” he said.

His statement was punctuated by an agonizing scream from the television, and Buttercup smirked.

“Yeah, _real_ quiet.”

The conversation ceased, and they went back to their movie. Sort of. Butch was trying not to read too much into it, but when she'd shown up and he'd been all “Are the guys coming?” and she'd said “Oh, I didn't talk to them, you wanna give them a call?” what else could he have done but shrug and wait to see if she'd act on it? And, when she hadn't…

She tapped the bottle against his knee and he looked at her. It was half-full and she was holding it out. Offering it to him.

He stared for a second, then took it, glancing at her once more. Her eyes were glued to the set.

He put his mouth on it and drank.

***

Brick sat waiting and hating life for about half an hour before he got up and, ignoring Princess' protests when she discovered he was no long seated, announced he was venturing outside. He assured her he would be back at dusk, when she was sure to be done.

“I'm telling my mother on you!” she screeched.

“My fear, it overwhelms me.” He stepped out into the sunlight. This store was one of several in an expensive-looking outdoor mall, and Brick looked from one side to another, weighing his options. His attention was caught by a menswear store.

He ignored the looks he got as he walked in and browsed, examining ties and shirts that cost more than a week's worth of meals. The prices shocked him; he knew this shit could be expensive, but holy fuck, this was ridiculous. Penny handled suit orders, so any time he was required to wear one he really wasn't privy to this sort of information.

“Maybe we should call security.”

Brick rolled his eyes as the whispers started.

“Are you kidding? Do you know what that kid could _do_ to security?”

“He's here by himself, right? His brothers aren't with him, are they?”

“Wait, I thought they were good now—”

Brick's hand twitched, but he let the last comment slide. Actually, he considered turning on them to glare and inform them that he did, in fact, have superhearing, so none of these whispered conversations were actually very private, but then he had a better idea.

He made for the counter, relishing the way the clerk's face blanched as he approached.

“Hi there,” he said. “I'd like to be fitted for your best suit.”

***

“Dude, do you ever clean in here?” Buttercup nudged a pile of clothing in Butch’s room with her foot. “These jeans look like they could stand up on their own.”

“Fuck off, like your place is any cleaner,” Butch said, kneeling as he rummaged through his shelves for a game.

“At least I do laundry.” She picked up a mason jar on the shelving unit he was combing through. Okay, that was definitely pot.

“Help yourself,” he said.

“No, thanks.” She set it back down and pulled open one of the drawers on the unit. He glanced at her, then went back to rummaging. It was mostly loose random shit, with a few baggies and a couple bottles of pills rolling around in there. She picked one up and shook it. Empty.

“Brick dumped it all when we got into that fight,” he said.

“Mmm.” She heard the bottles roll around as she shut the drawer. “Good.”

“You judgey bitch,” he said, laughing. “It’s not like the X would react with anything.”

“I guess.” She opened the second drawer, which was pretty much more of the same. Kind of. She tilted her head, frowning. There was a little notch at the bottom panel that was sending warning bells through her brain.

“Just pop it open if you’re curious.”

She glanced at Butch. He had stopped rummaging and was looking at her. She rolled her eyes and reached for the notch, but hesitated.

Butch stood up and bumped her arm out of the way. “Chickenshit,” he muttered as he popped the fake bottom panel up.

_Wait_ , she thought, her throat tightening.

Butch slipped a pair of knives out of the foam inserts beneath the panel. Well, she couldn’t see the blade, but she recognized the handles. The tension in her throat disappeared, making way for genuine curiosity.

“Oh, shit,” she said, their familiarity almost soothing. “Butterflies? I’ve totally had these pulled on me.”

“No kidding,” Butch said, grinning, and tossed one at her.

“Yeah, ever since I was a kid.” She turned the handle over and over in her hands.

“Could any of the losers in this town actually flip them?” Butch asked, laughing as he flipped the one in his hand open to show off.

“I don’t know.” She squinted at the one she was holding. “How do you get it to open like that?”

He pointed with his non-flipping hand. “Hit that latch.”

She did as he said, and one of the handles arced open to reveal the blade. She blinked at it a couple of times, then looked at him, still flipping its mate. He shrugged, smirking.

“You cocky cock,” she laughed, and he flipped it from one hand to the other. “You'd never do that in an actual fight. That's so totally not practical.”

“Yeah, 'cause I'm the _king_ of practical. And I've done flipping in a few fights.”

“Any you were genuinely losing?”

“Hmm. Point taken.” The blade sparked in his hands as it caught the occasional sunbeam.

Buttercup had pushed the handles of the knife in her hands together to extend the blade fully. An idea came to Butch, and he stopped flipping his.

“Here. I can show you how to do some tricks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It's all wrist. And it's not like you're gonna cut yourself or anything.” He closed his and held it between them. “Watch.”

He tried to flip it open as slowly as possible, but didn't put that much effort into it—with her eyes, he knew she'd be able to break down the movement, maybe even mimic it. As soon as it was open she looked down at hers and attempted the same. She missed grabbing the handle.

“Damn it.”

“Try—” He started to encourage her but cut off; she was already making another attempt. He watched as she missed a couple more times.

“Do it again,” she said, and he complied. This time she got it on her second try.

“Ha!” they cried in unison.

“You hot bitch!” Butch cackled as she did it a few times more, near flawlessly. It was a special sort of invigorating to see her catching on so quick with one of his knives in her hands.

The room went bright and time slowed. He stared at her as she worked the knife, everything around her going fuzzy.

What a great girl. What a fantastic, fucking great girl.

“Hey,” the fantastic, fucking great girl in front of him said. “Show me another.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”

***

They almost took his cap off. Brick made it clear that they were going to lose extremities if they did. They left it alone.

It was a nice suit. It looked a little stuffy with a tie, so he forewent the one they'd offered and flicked the collar and first button open. It was around this time that he caught sight of Princess in the mirror, her eyes scrutinizing his backside. He turned.

“What, you enjoying the view back there?”

She scowled at him. “Your pants don't fit.”

“You some expert on clothes?” he said as he turned back to face the mirrors.

“That's gotta be the stupidest question I've ever been asked. You.” She waved over the clerk who was helping Brick. “How much is this suit?”

“Hey,” Brick warned.

“Two thousand dollars, miss,” the clerk answered.

The power of Princess' smirk was such that it actually attracted his attention; when he glanced at her he could already see a scheme turning the gears of her brain.

“You do made-to-measure, I hope,” she said to the clerk.

“Of course.”

“Because you can see these don't fit him in the back.” She dragged the clerk behind Brick, and he whipped around.

“Hey!”

“Oh, stop Brick, it isn't like it's your fault,” she cooed. “On second thought, does this store do bespoke suits?”

“We do, miss.”

“Wait a minute—”

“Take his measurements, then—”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Brick snapped. “Are you gonna ask _me_ whether I'm interested or not?”

“Well, _of course_ , you're interested.” Princess rolled her eyes. “Look at how well you clean up.”

“If that's supposed to be a compliment—”

“Fine, Brick.” Princess sighed loudly. “Go ahead! Make a scene.”

Brick halted, the open stares of the few employees and patrons suddenly feeling very heavy.

“Just like everybody expects you to,” Princess mouthed, barely a whisper, and obviously intended only for him to hear.

After some time, he let the hostility drain from his body. It left everything save for his glare, which he reserved, in full, for Princess.

“Taking a cue from your mother, are you?” he muttered as he passed her to join the clerk.

He didn't catch her reaction. But he hoped he'd pissed her off.

***

Buttercup was throwing it nearly as well as him after five minutes. Butch was grinning wickedly as he pried both knives out of his bedroom door.

“Damn, look at you! Throwing that shit like a pro.”

She shrugged. “I just got a good eye.”

“No, you don't get it,” he said, flipping his knives closed. “These aren't made for throwing. There's, like, weight issues and shit. I had to get these specially rigged by someone at work so they wouldn't fall apart. You're not supposed to be able to actually throw these.”

“Guess that makes me special,” she said, smirking. He bit his lip.

“Yeah,” he said, setting his knives back in their drawer and shutting it. He glanced her way. She was examining the splintered wood in the door. “Yeah, you're really something.”

***

“Oh, cheer up, Brick,” Princess said smugly. They were back on the road now, headed to some restaurant clear on the other side of town that Princess just _had_ to try. “You've got a bespoke suit coming your way in a couple of weeks. Most men are never that lucky, much less _teenagers_.”

“I didn't want the suit,” he grumbled.

“Ha! Such a liar. You totally did. Maybe you thought you were being discreet about it, but you were microexpressing all over the place when I was talking to the guy.”

Something threw a red flag up in Brick's brain, but he was more preoccupied with setting the record straight.

“What, that I was pissed off? Sorry, I wasn't trying to be subtle there.”

“I meant about your mad want of that suit,” Princess sang triumphantly.

“Whatever,” he snapped.

“Oh, get over yourself. Not to mention you think a two thousand dollar suit is expensive.” She sneered at him. “That's _adorable.”_ Her face sobered and she bounced back with a huff. “Too bad you're gonna go and waste it on some self-righteous hussy of a superhero.”

Her accusation was well-timed. Brick slammed on the brakes as they approached a stoplight and turned to glare, his eyes emanating a dim, red glow.

Princess had her arms crossed and was looking out the passenger side window, nose in the air. He wondered what would happen if he just got out of the car and flew off.

“Nothing to say to that, huh?”

“I don't respond to idiocy.”

“Oh yeah, it's just some _coincidence_ that you and your brothers are always hanging out with _those_ three now? You all weren't exactly childhood friends, you know.”

Brick stepped on the gas as the light turned green.

“I should've figured. Everybody else got all hot and bothered about them as soon as puberty hit. Not sure why I expected evil boys with superpowers to react any differently.”

“So what you're telling me…” Brick paused, both for dramatic effect and to give himself time to direct a pointed look at her. “Is that you're jealous.”

“Of course I'm jealous, you moron,” Princess snapped. “Everybody in this stupid city is freaking obsessed with them. 'Oh, Powerpuff Girls, you're so great! Let us interview you! Let us take your picture! Be in our shoe ad! Have another award! Save us! _Date us!_ Oh, Powerpuff Girls, _we love you!’_ ”

“Ugh, _please_. It's not like any of that is directed at _you_.”

“I bet Blossom would find it so sweet that you're defending her. How very chivalrous and traitorous of you.”

The mention of her name sent something shooting through Brick, something that made him keenly aware of how long it had been since he'd last seen her. He wondered how she was doing. He wondered if she was okay. The week and a half there was left before her return stretched out in front of him, feeling like a very long time.

“You're microexpressing again,” Princess muttered, and Brick clenched his jaw, ready for this whole day to be over.

***

“So what, you aren't going to celebrate your birthday at _all?_ ” Butch said in disbelief as they rummaged through his game collection.

“No, dude. We're just putting it off.” Buttercup shrugged. “The city has been wanting to do a whole city-wide party, or parade or whatever for our eighteenth, but Bubbles and I don't really want to do a big thing without Blossom here. So that thing won't happen till the end of the month. Like, after Thanksgiving. I don't know, I'd rather do something small anyway, with just you and the guys.”

“'Small?'” He scoffed. “It's Number Eighteen! Kind of a big year!”

“Okay, yeah, but I don't need a bunch of people who don't actually know anything about me coming up and gushing all over me. I can't handle that stuff. It bugs the crap out of me. So I'd rather just hang with my friends.” She kicked his leg. “You know, all the _cool_ people.”

He obliged her with a laugh. “I haven't even played some of these,” he said as they picked through the titles for a good one. “I just grabbed a bunch of shit to keep from being bored.”

“Here, this one,” she said, waving a fighting game at him. “And maybe this one, too.”

He grabbed the zombie co-op game she pointed at and followed her into the living room. Once they'd worked out the controls, they spent the better part of their afternoon beating the shit out of each other's video game counterparts.

“Man, even in the virtual world I fucking own your ass,” Buttercup laughed as she mashed the buttons.

“Bitch, shut up. You pull two victories ahead of me—”

“In a row,” she cut in.

“And suddenly you think you're all hot shit—oh, God damn it.”

She sneered as she dealt the finishing blow and pointed at the screen.

“Do the numbers lie?”

“I'm over this. Stick the zombie game in.” He tossed his controller away, doing a poor job of hiding his pout.

She laughed, switching out the disc. “You sore-ass loser.”

He grunted and leaned back on his hands as they waited for the opening credits to play out.

***

Brick had to admit that Princess' tastes, while expensive, were also quite good when it came to food. The late lunch alleviated a token amount of his suffering, and he was able to allow himself some excitement at getting a free, custom-fit suit. Or at least monetarily free.

Princess happened to get a phone call from a friend before their entrees arrived and remained on the line for the duration of the entire meal. Fortunately, this meant Brick didn't have to engage in any actual conversation with her. Unfortunately, it made for a rather shrill and annoying dining experience. He polished his plate, then wound up ordering a coffee. Then a dessert. Followed by another coffee.

“Ugh, God, I know, I don't know _what_ my Mother was thinking. But I told her, 'Mother, I am putting my foot down! I am going to be back for the holidays, and we're going to get Daddy out of jail…' What? No, of course it hasn't happened yet, you idiot. I've only been back a week—”

“Are you _done?_ ” Brick interrupted. He was way over staring at the empty bottom of his coffee cup.

“Excuse me,” Princess said sweetly to her friend, then turned to Brick and hissed, “ _I'm on the phone!_ ”

“Obviously! What, do I look blind? Or deaf? You're making me wish I _was_ deaf!”

Princess held up a hand and glued her phone back to her ear. “What? Oh, that's Brick. Yes, I know. I know. Well, speak for yourself. Mother threw the guy a bone and has him driving me around today—”

Brick snatched the phone out of Princess' hand.

“Hey!”

He broke it in half and tossed the pieces back at her.

“I'm telling my mother on you!”

“Well, you'll have to tell her in person, since your phone is currently out of commission.”

“Ugh, this is disgusting,” Princess said, curling her lip at her food. “It's all cold.”

“Yeah, how dare it sit there and not stay warm for half an hour while you wrap up your phone call,” he said, reclining in his chair.

She glared and pushed her food away. “Whatever. I'm not hungry, anyway. Get us the check,” she told the waiter, who had come back with another coffee for Brick.

Brick sighed and sipped at his fresh cup while Princess rummaged through her purse for her card. How much more of his day was this going to eat into? She signed for the check and sat back, twirling the pen in her hand.

_Saber_ , he thought, then blinked. She twirled the pen in her hands again, and stopped it. Brick frowned and sat up. She twirled it again. Stopped.

Twirl. Stop. Twirl. Stop.

His arm shot out across the table to snare her wrist and she yelped. The pen dropped to the floor.

“Wh-what is your _problem?!_ ”

Brick ignored her alarm and the people staring, his gaze cutting and intense. He could see the look stunned her, and she—miraculously—went silent.

“You just went through four different knife grips in a row,” Brick said quietly. She looked bewildered, confused. For a second he doubted himself.

But then she blanched, her eyes going wide, and suddenly Brick's nerves were practically vibrating, all on edge. He let her go and watched as she hastily pulled back her wrist, his gaze darkening.

“Princess,” he said, his voice taking on a tone he had not used in a long time, “what else did your mother have you learn in France?”

***

Some time into it, right about when they finished the in-game tutorial (which Buttercup proclaimed was a “complete bullshit waste of time”), the front door opened, and they both looked up from their mass zombie homiciding to see Bubbles and Boomer coming in. The four of them exchanged Hello's, then Butch and Buttercup went back to their game.

“Butch, Brick's gonna get pissed at you for not locking this, dude.”

“Shut up,” Butch said.

“Here,” Bubbles said, rummaging through one of her bags—evidently they'd been shopping. Again. “This is yours. And… oh, I guess that's the only one.”

“Bubbles, you're running out of closet space,” Buttercup warned as the couple headed to his bedroom. “And if any of your stuff starts cutting into mine then I'm going to set it on fire.”

“Don't worry, Buttercup!” Bubbles reassured her. “I'll only invade Blossom's space. I promise.”

“You're my favorite sister,” Buttercup called back.

“Hey, pay attention.” Butch nudged her. “You just missed, like, five zombies.”

“Good thing you're here to pick up my slack,” Buttercup said as the door to Boomer's room shut.

They played in silence for a few minutes, trying not to listen to the giggling coming from Boomer's room.

“Where's the remote?” Buttercup said after some time. Butch turned up the volume.

***

“Mother's going to kill me,” Princess had moaned over and over again on the way back to her place. Brick had been unable to get anything else out of her, and had eventually come to the conclusion that finding out exactly what Princess had learned wasn't as important as just knowing she'd been up to something, period. What could he do about it, anyway? Confronting Mrs. Morbucks about the chip she'd planted on him had only strained things. He couldn't see the point of bringing this new revelation up with her, either.

On the bright side, the day's activities had been cut abruptly short following Princess' slip-up. He dropped her back at home—she was so distraught that she seemed to barely register it at all—and urged her not to say anything to her Mother, since it wouldn't help either of them. Then he headed home to try and wind down. And maybe work out what the hell Mrs. Morbucks' angle was.

He trudged up the stairs to the apartment, the keys already in his hand and the door within sight. Maybe he'd think on the Mrs. Morbucks thing later. Right now, all he wanted to do was relax and turn off his brain, maybe hit Butch up for a joint—

The voices on the other side of the door gave him pause. He could hear Buttercup and Butch just inside, and beyond that, Boomer's and Bubbles' more muted conversation. The keys jangled in his hand as he pulled back, the desire to be alone in his room ebbing.

He shoved his keys back into his pocket and headed back down the stairs.

***

“There,” Bubbles said proudly as she hung up Boomer's new shirt and jeans in his closet. “See? It isn't that hard.” She indicated the small piles of clothes strewn about his room. “Now you can practice on your own.”

“Mm,” he said thoughtfully, perched on the edge of his bed. “You mean right now?”

“If you want,” she said, smiling as she took a seat next to him.

“I would,” he said, his attention fixed on the hem of her skirt as she bumped her leg against his. “But I dunno, you're kind of distracting.”

“Am I?” She giggled, leaning closer. “So should I leave?”

“Terrible idea.”

She grinned at him, her face millimeters from his. Just as he was about to kiss her, she pulled away.

“Here,” she said, digging through her bags. “Let me show you what I bought.” She tugged out a few things, and Boomer tried not to let his disappointment show.

But then she moved to take off her top, and his eyes widened and he whipped around to face the wall.

“I'm wearing a tank top underneath, silly.”

“O-oh?”

“But thank you for being a gentleman. I guess if you're turned around, I can put on some of the other stuff…”

The bags rustled some more, and Boomer swallowed, coughed, scratched his neck.

“Ta-da!”

He turned his head. She twirled for him, showing off the outfit, which was remarkably hard for him to pay attention to. His mind was stuck on the fact that for a brief amount of time she had been in nothing but her underwear in his room, and instead of looking or sneaking a peek he had put his eyes to the fucking wall.

“Boomer? Did you hear me?”

He twitched and said, “What? I—no, I'm sorry. I was… distracted.”

“By?”

“Um… you?”

“Ah. Right. Nice save.”

“Thank…” He trailed off as she kicked off her new shoes and floated over to join him on the bed.

“I'm sorry,” she said, that sweet, amused smile still decorating her face. “Am I distracting you again?”

Words would not come to him, not even a simple “Yes” or “Um.” He stared at her as she drifted closer. One of her hands moved to the other side of his lap to support her as she leaned into him.

“I'll take that as a yes,” she said, and kissed him.

***

At the first faint, telltale squeak of a bedspring, Buttercup dropped the controller and stood up.

“You wanna leave?” she said, voice a little thin.

“Yep,” Butch said, not even bothering to power off the TV or the game system as they bolted for the door.

***

Bubbles was kissing him deep and slow with her head nestled among his pillows. Boomer was kind of dumbstruck by how good a kisser she was. At least, she seemed like a good kisser. He hadn't actually engaged in a lot of makeout sessions before, so he wasn't sure how she compared, but when he considered how hard it was to think about anything else when her lips were working against his he kind of just figured that automatically meant she was a good kisser. _Really_ good, even.

But how long was a makeout supposed to last? Was he supposed to be keeping track? And was he just supposed to lie on top of her? For the moment he wasn't—he was propped up on his arms and knees as he kissed her. Just lying on top of her seemed kind of rude, especially considering… well…

He wasn't sure if she was aware of it or not, though she did keep tugging at him to get closer, occasionally. He'd comply, but within seconds would pull back again.

Bubbles mumbled something against his mouth, her teeth nibbling at his lip, and he made a confused sort of “Mrmmp?” sound in the back of his throat.

She pulled back and went for his neck, which made Boomer gasp and try to jerk away, but she held him fast.

“I said, 'come here,'” she whispered, her tongue flicking against his Adam's apple, and that, ohhh, that made him feel like his brain was going to explode at any second. “I want you to hug me.”

He thought about saying something like _This is not how people are supposed to hug_ , but didn't want to discourage her from anything that was currently happening or on its way to happening.

“It's not going to bother me,” she said, her voice slipping past her lips and warming his neck, and it took him a second to realize what she meant. He flushed red, scalding hot to the touch. She _had_ noticed. “If that's what you're worried about, I mean.”

He tried to laugh it off. “Um, I d-don't—I don't know wh-what you mean.”

He could feel her smile against his neck. “You're cute when you play innocent.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, and she giggled.

“You're soooo red right now,” she teased, touching his neck. “See, your skin is all warm and splotchy when I touch you.”

When Boomer didn't respond, she pulled away and studied him for a moment.

“Here, trade.”

He found his voice again as she started to shift out from under him. “Wh-what?”

“Lie down. Let's switch spots.”

“Um—”

Seconds later a dazed Boomer was staring up at her from his vantage point against the pillows, wide-eyed and paralyzed. He felt incapacitated, feverishly warm, and was having trouble deciphering the chain of events that had led to this whole situation.

_I should be making a move_ , he thought as she adjusted her skirt. Guys were supposed to be all over this sort of thing, right? Wasn't he the one who should've been pressing her to the sheets, coaxing her to let him touch her?

He steeled his nerves and reached a hand for her thigh. She looked up as he made contact, and, not wanting to wimp out, he slid his hand up, towards the hem of her skirt. His eyes darted to hers, a silent inquiry as to whether this was okay. He hoped she couldn't feel his hand shaking.

Bubbles' eyes were soft as she took him in, and she scooted up next to him, fitting herself along his side as she grasped his hand and guided it around, underneath her skirt. He inadvertently brushed her panty line and snapped his hand back, or tried to. She still had a firm grip on it.

“Sorry,” he said, swallowing. “S-sorry.”

“Don't be,” she assured him, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You just looked like you wanted to touch me, and I wanted to let you know it's okay.”

“But I don't… you know. I'm not, I don't… I don't know anything.”

She smiled up at him, her expression warm and heartmelting.

“You don't have to.”

“Well… I feel like I should.” Talking was better. Talking was calming him down, kind of. Her hand was still over his, resting on her thigh just underneath the curve of her butt.

She sighed. “Look, I wasn't thinking we should, you know. You know. I just wanted to be close to you. And I like kissing you. You're a good kisser.”

“Really?” he said, a little more enthusiastically than he intended, and she laughed again.

“Yes, you silly boy. And you're so sweet, and cute. And I like kissing you. And we hadn't had a proper makeout session, you know. And for once there's no one around to interrupt us. So.”

“What about Butch and Buttercup?”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Boomer, they left, like, an hour ago.”

“What?” He started to turn but she pulled him back.

“If you remember correctly,” she said, her voice going husky and sending every thought that didn't involve lying in bed with her out of his brain, “I was distracting you.”

***

“That's gotta be number one on the list of Top Ten Things I Don't Want to Know About Any More Than I Have to,” Butch said.

“Amen,” Buttercup agreed, looking around. She’d flown them to the forest on the edge of town, and it was a nice change of pace from being indoors all day. The sun was going down, illuminating the sky in one final burst of orange and purple before the world went dark. Times like these she was glad for the superpowers. The world looked so different at night; she liked being able to walk around in it freely.

“I mean, first I gotta deal with Blossom hanging out with Brick all the time, and then Boomer's bringing his girl home… nothing against your sister, I just mean, you know. I share a wall with the guy and everything.” He shook his head. “Weirds me out.”

“Uh-huh.” She certainly didn't want to hear either of her sisters getting brave in the sack with a guy, but there was another part of her that… well, that missed getting to do exactly what Bubbles was probably doing right now.

“And it's kind of insulting, you know—I mean, it's _Boomer_. I don't even have a girlfriend yet. Not that I really wanted a girlfriend, I just… kinda hoped I'd have the kind of opportunities he's getting, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” Buttercup hated to admit this to herself, actually, but what had made her so eager to get out of there had only a token amount to do with it being her sister and much more to do with having desires of her own that she didn't need to be reminded of when she had no one to act on them with.

“But it's not like I'm, you know, that bored, actually, or feeling like I gotta get with somebody,” Butch said. “I like, you know, just hanging out with you. And the guys. I mean, you're way cooler than, you know, an actual girlfriend.” He paused. “Shit, that was… pretend that didn't come out of my mouth.”

“Uh-huh.” Not that she'd actually gotten that far with Mitch. But she'd gotten far enough to get interested, and it wasn't like she was some frigid bitch, even though she probably gave off that vibe to a lot of people. But then again, what the hell did they know?

“But, um… I actually kinda… kinda mean that, Buttercup,” Butch said, and the way he said her name caught her attention and broke her out of her thoughts. She looked at him, trying to recall a single thing he'd said to her and coming up empty.

_Way to go, Buttercup._

The darkening sky and the stillness of the woods made for a nice backdrop. She felt her head go light as Butch looked at her.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he said, his voice suddenly all soft, “I think… I think you're just about the coolest girl I've ever met.”

Her stomach suddenly felt nonsensical, like a mass of squiggly lines because whoever had put her together hadn’t known how a person’s insides looked. She looked away, but tensed as she recognized the cabin just within their line of sight. Smoke curled out of the chimney of Fuzzy's house, and she snatched at Butch's arm.

“Whoa, what—Buttercup?”

She shushed him as she flew them around, putting as much distance between them and the cabin as she could. On any other night where she felt like messin' and had Butch in tow, antagonizing Fuzzy was an entertaining idea. But it was a nice night, and she was enjoying the company, and for once she actually didn't feel like fighting.

_Ain't that the truth_ , she thought, remembering Mitch's mouth against hers as they curled up together on his bed, and then she wondered if Butch was a virgin and she let go of him.

“Sorry,” she said.

“What was that about?”

She pointed. “Fuzzy. I just didn't feel like running into him. I'm… enjoying the walk.” She turned and took a few steps. “You know?”

She heard him hurry to catch up to her.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, me too, actually.”

***

Boomer had been wrong about Bubbles. She was not a good kisser. She was fucking _phenomenal_.

Everything about her kissing—not just her lips, but her teeth and her tongue, how she gently bit and licked at his mouth—sent him into a dizzying whirl, a near-frenzy, tempered only by his anxiety regarding his own inexperience and how she was so nice that she probably wouldn't even tell him if he was doing anything wrong. This thought—no, _knowledge—_ plagued him as their kissing intensified, as her hands ran through his hair, up and down his back, and then encouraged his to do the same.

“I—I need a break,” he gasped, after she had guided one of his hands up her skirt and along the agonizing warmth of her inner thigh.

“Oh?” Her arms wound around his neck. “That's a shame.”

He pried her arms off of him and sat up, upset at her teasing because… because…

“It's just, I feel so stupid—”

“Oh, Boomer, don't—”

“And you've been with so many other guys—”

The hand that had been reaching for him froze, and she stared at him, her eyes clouding over.

“What?”

The atmosphere had plummeted. Bubbles sat up, pressing a hand to his chest to get him to back up. She stared, dumbstruck, at the covers on his bed. Boomer figured he had to at least attempt something.

“You… you know what I mean. I only dated Haley for like, a week, and we never—”

“ _Could you stop, please_ ,” Bubbles interjected, her voice cracking, and he shut up. Some of her hair was loose in her eyes; one of her pigtails had come out and—after feeling its mate, mussed up and loosening as well—she excused herself.

“Bubbles, wait!”

“Give me a second,” she said as she went through his doorway, and a second later he heard the bathroom door shut. He sat back.

_But she has no reason to be pissed off_ , he thought defensively. _She dated Mike, and Will, and there had to have been guys in between that_. She was such a good kisser, and she wasn't nearly as nervous or shy about it as he was, and it wasn't like he was accusing her. If it was anybody's fault…

The room darkened at the edges of his vision as a sudden anger welled up in him.

The bathroom door opened, and he blinked, the room clearing again. She paused, leaning on his doorframe as she played with the hair band; she'd let her hair down, unable to find the second one. Boomer looked back at the pillows and stuck a hand under them.

“Here,” he said, locating it and pulling it out for her to see. He hoped it would encourage her to come back.

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and swept her hair back, but didn't move. Her new clothes had wrinkled; she tried to smooth out her top, then her skirt.

“I'm sorry.”

This didn't really look like it soothed her, but she did sigh and float back to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to him. He moved up to her and wrapped his arms around her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered again, squeezing her tight. She didn't return the embrace, only sat there, stiff and unresponsive.

“Do you.” She cleared her throat. “Do you know why I'm kinda mad at you right now?”

“Why are you mad? I said I was sorry.”

“I'm not—” She clamped her mouth shut and took a deep, steadying breath, then blurted, “I'm not some kind of slut who just does this with anybody.”

“I didn't say you were!”

“And—ugh.” She groaned and flopped back against the bed, hands over her face. “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice muffled. “I just—I'm sorry. I'm sorry for reacting that way.”

He edged himself down so he could lie next to her. He wasn't sure how she'd feel if he threw an arm around her, so he held back.

“I'm sorry I made you upset.”

Those hands of hers moved to sweep her hair back again, and her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled. She glanced at him and grinned weakly.

“So much for the mood, huh?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, I could give it another shot.”

She laughed and shoved him playfully away.

“Mike.”

The name sent a twinge through him.

“Huh?”

“Mike was my first boyfriend,” she said. “We went out for three months. We kissed on the lips—really innocent kissing, I mean, we were both freshman and had never dated before. That was as far as we got. Then there was Pablo at the end of my freshman year, for a little over a month. He was sweet. Just lips, again. Sanjay for… well, two weeks, really, like right after Homecoming our sophomore year. He was… well, that was really like my first, you know... _heavy_ kissing.” Bubbles laughed and hid her face. “He was really good at it. And then I got together with Will a few months later.”

She fumbled for his hand and grasped it. “And now I have you.”

Boomer wasn't sure if the names were supposed to make him feel better or not, but at least she was here with him. He gave her hand a squeeze of his own.

“This is… this is probably going to sound weird,” she whispered, her expression softening. She didn't say anything for a while.

“What?”

“I feel…” She wet her lips. “I feel like… like this whole thing with you… it's different. You and me. It's like… like you were made just for me.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, her cheeks coloring a bit. “Sounds weird, right?”

“I am,” he said, and the tone of his voice was so serious that it actually made her blush; he could see.

No, it didn't sound weird. It didn't sound weird at all.

***

“Zero,” Butch said with a shrug, taking Buttercup by surprise.

“Bullshit.”

“I wish. There aren't exactly a lot of girls my age around back home,” He kicked a clod of dirt and they watched it break apart as it scuttled along the ground.

“So you just like to talk a big game.”

“I don't talk about my game; I talk about how much I like looking. There's a difference.”

“Well, the way you talk about 'em…” Buttercup trailed off, then shrugged and stared at the ground as they walked. In her peripheral vision she could see Butch's shoes angle a little away from her, then drift back, gradually.

_Déjà vu._

“How, uh… how far did you and Mitch get?” he mumbled, and it was such an obvious attempt to try and get a real answer out of her that she felt obligated to honor the effort. Besides, he'd been honest with her. The least she could do was be honest back.

“Um… not far.” She squinted. “Like… second base? I don't know, I can't keep track of the differences. First is kissing, right?”

“It's kissing, then touching, then touching below the belt, then, you know, the real deal is a home run.”

“Of course you know that shit. Second base, then. Under the shirt. And… and bra.”

Butch was chewing the inside of his lower lip and she caught him darting a glance at her chest. She smacked him.

“Sorry,” he said, looking guilty, and then she felt bad for hitting him. They had been talking about it, after all. Why wouldn't he look?

“I just don't like being looked at.”

“Yeah.”

“Even with Mitch… it was always under the shirt. I didn't want to, you know, take it off. I'd take my bra off, but not the shirt.”

“So you didn't like it?”

“No, that's not it. I liked it. I… yeah, I liked it. I liked being with him like… like that.” She jammed her hands in her pockets, feeling the inner seam, then glanced at Butch, who was making a clear effort not to look at her.

“Man,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Everybody's getting some before me.”

Buttercup snorted, since it seemed the best way to react, and said, “Brick, too?”

“I don't know about him, but if he hasn't yet, I'm pretty sure he'll beat me to it anyway.” Butch sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You all suck.”

“I'm sure a lot of girls wouldn't mind your hands on them,” she said, her gaze riveted to her sneakers.

“I guess.”

Buttercup crossed her arms, her hands feeling the seam of her bra through her clothes. She missed being touched in the dark on Mitch's bed. It had almost been a year now since they'd broken up. And sharing a room with her sisters never gave her a lot of opportunities to act on any urges of her own.

She stopped walking, feeling antsy and restless and like suggesting something crazy as she thought of how Butch's hand had run through his hair just a second ago.

“Buttercup?” he said, and she looked up. He was staring, about ten feet ahead of her. “You okay?”

She hugged her arms tighter to herself, the underwire hard against her skin.

“You've never felt a girl's, um, chest before, right?”

“Oh, don't rub it—” He cut off abruptly as she started walking towards him, eyes on the ground and blushing something terrible.

“Holy shit, you're not serious,” he whispered, the color draining out of his face.

“I mean, it's just a body,” she mumbled, stopping in front of him.

His mouth went through a myriad of shapes before he managed speech. “This is a pity… thing! I don't want you to do it out of _pity_ for me!”

“It's not. I mean, I told you… I like it. And… I don't know, it's just a friend… thing. I don't know. This sounds stupid.” She groaned. “Look, just—do you want to touch my fucking boobs or not?”

Thin, nervous laughter. “I don't believe this.”

“If you keep not believing it I'm going to change my mind. Do you want to or not?”

That awkward this-isn't-happening smile faded from his face. He swallowed.

“Well… yeah,” he mumbled, his voice sounding thick. “I just… don't get why you’d let me.”

She looked down and shrugged. After a second she walked to a nearby tree and pulled her arms inside her sweatshirt, then her shirt, and fumbled for the clasp of her bra. She paused and darted a look over her shoulder at Butch, who blinked and looked away.

In the span of a few seconds she'd tugged her bra off, pulled it back through her sleeves, and hung it by its straps off a branch on the other side of the tree. The t-shirt's fabric felt soft against her bare skin, that familiar exhilaration of feeling slightly less decent sending a shiver through her. Or maybe that was Butch's gaze as he turned to look again. She pushed her hair away from her face and nodded, then leaned her back against the tree.

He didn't move for so long that Buttercup became convinced he'd changed his mind. But eventually he walked over, scrubbing his hands along the sides of his jeans and still looking like he couldn't believe this was happening.

“You can't tell anyone about this,” she whispered, pulling the hem of her shirt away from her body and watching his hands.

“I'm not—I won't,” he whispered back. His hands drew close, then pulled away. Buttercup noticed her breathing had gotten deep and heavy and tried to slow it, at least so it didn't sound so weird.

His hands drew close again, bumping against hers as he reached up.

“S-sorry,” he said, and she could practically feel the heat coming off his face. She shook her head to indicate it was fine; it was hard for her to find her voice at the moment.

“If I… fuck up, or something, just say so,” he said.

_You're not gonna fuck up_ , she thought, but all she did was nod.

It felt like an eternity before his hands came into actual contact with her skin; they bumped against the lower swell of her breasts and then drew back. Buttercup was stunned to find him shaking, but didn't comment on it. He reached up again, and this time his hands settled on her breasts and stayed. His hands felt warm, maybe a tad sweaty from nerves, but it wasn't unpleasant.

“See?” she said, finally finding her voice, and grinned. “It's not so bad.”

There was that thin, nervous laugh again. “N-no, it's definitely not bad.”

She let go of her shirt and rested her hands by her sides, waiting.

“You can touch them more than that, you know.”

More laughter; he looked embarrassed. “I don't… I don't know what to do.”

“Don't be scared, you wuss,” she teased lightly.

“Actually I'm actually really fucking scared right now, actually,” he said, unable to get rid of that nervous laugh. “I-I can't, I don't think I've ever been so fucking scared in all my fucking life.”

The smile faded from her expression. He swallowed again, looking miserable.

“I can't believe I just said that to you.”

“It's okay.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, biting his lip. “I don't… I can't believe how fucking scared I am right now.”

Buttercup reached up, clasped him by the elbows, and drew him closer. He sucked in a sudden breath; she could see his Adam's apple bob up and down repeatedly.

Her hands drifted up along his arms and rested against his hands, then pressed them against her. Something that sounded like a stifled gasp escaped his throat.

“Here,” she said, guiding his hands to work against her breasts in a slow massage. “It's not like it's rocket science or anything.”

Butch's eyes were fixed on her hands, or maybe what was beyond them. It was hard to tell.

She smiled sardonically. “Crash course in fondling.”

He laughed; he was getting a little braver and shaking less now. “Be nice if that was a real class.”

She laughed politely, then took her hands away, letting him continue on his own. He hesitated for a second, but only a second.

“Are… are you really okay with this?” he murmured, green eyes dark as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” she said, although now she wasn't so sure with him looking at her like that. She was already a horny hormonal teenager, and Butch was, in actuality, a decent looking guy, and despite what a pig he could be he was fun to hang out with, and to talk to, and just in general, even. And he got her in a way nobody else—not even her friends, not even Mitch—did or ever had. When he was honest about things like girls and his virginity he was almost endearing.

So yes, she was okay with this. She was okay with it because she was curious and didn't know what else to do with them and tended to feel silly when she touched herself anyway, and because Butch wasn't hard to look at and he was good with his hands and a friend besides and in spite of all his flaws she really, truly did trust him.

“I can’t believe how soft they are,” he said, and she realized her breathing had deepened considerably and worked to steady it.

“What?” she said, trying not to let it sound like a sigh. “Breasts?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling one of his hands back just to skim over the peak. Buttercup bit back the small noise that threatened escape; Butch didn't notice. “I mean obviously they would be, but…” His hand was barely grazing her skin as it circled her nipple, and she dug her fists into the bark of the tree, fighting the compulsion to make noises and pull him closer.

“I’ve just never felt anything so soft before,” he said, and then there was that satisfying pressure against her skin as his hand enveloped her breast completely, finally. She drove her head back against the tree and hissed out a breath through gritted teeth.

Butch seemed to be taken aback by her reaction, and for a second she thought he might ask her about it. But then his eyes got dark and heavy, and he only touched her more, letting his hands wander tentatively along her torso as he felt out her ribs, her back, the faint muscles in her abs.

The bark of the tree bit into her skin as she pressed her hands against it. Steadying her breathing was serious work now. His hands were simultaneously awkward and wonderful on her body, and her head felt all dizzy and light, too distracted to focus on breathing correctly or on discouraging Butch, who was getting braver, closer. Dim warning alarms were going off in her head, but weren't loud enough to drown out the thrill that surged through her at the sound of his own breathing, which was more like continuous sighing and as deep and heavy as hers, or the pressure of his body, pushing her against the tree as he rested his forehead on the trunk and touched his temple to hers, his hands perpetually dancing along her skin.

One thing in particular sent her mind reeling. She spent a moment utterly confused before recognizing that what was pressing against her thigh was not a mystery item that had been crammed into his pocket, but, in fact, an honest-to-God erection.

Her brain started going haywire. _What do I do_? she thought, panic and fear and excitement shooting through her. Did he know she could feel it? He had to know; he was right there. Should she point it out? Laugh it off? But then he might feel bad and pull away, and she wasn't sure she wanted that.

_What do I do?_

Losing her virginity was something she hadn't reflected on since the breakup. When she and Mitch had started dating she'd just quietly assumed somewhere in the back of her mind that she'd lose it with him, but that hadn’t panned out, obviously. She’d heard it might hurt, but pain wasn't really an issue for Buttercup—only the closeness, the frightening intimacy and bigness of the act itself. Not only that, but everybody made such a big deal out of it, out of your first time, how it had to be perfect and wonderful with candles and shitty music on the stereo, but that never got a rise out of Buttercup.

Getting felt up in the dark in the woods, however…

More than anything it was sheer curiosity. She wanted to know what it… what it felt like, to have his pressed against hers. It was like what Butch had said, kind of: You’d never know how soft or terrible or wonderful something might be until it actually happened.

Butch had a knee between her legs and was practically lifting her up with it, making an utter mess of her underwear, she was sure, and her top had actually ridden up an unholy amount, enough for her to feel the cool night air against skin that she knew she wouldn't have been comfortable exposing otherwise. But all that seemed to pale in comparison at the breathtaking prospect of touching Butch's erection, of actually holding it, feeling it in her hands, and knowing for herself.

Buttercup was a teenager, and her hormones were raging, and she was curious and a virgin and fucking terrified, just like Butch. But a coward, never.

She reached a trembling hand for the crotch of his jeans and touched him, gently dragging her hand up the length of it.

His reaction shocked her; she felt him throw his weight against her and shudder, heard him gasp for breath, sucking in oxygen like he suddenly couldn't get enough of it. He went all tense as he drove his head against hers. She thought she heard him breathe her name in some small, agonizing voice that she had never heard him use before. It was a sound that warmed her from the inside out, made her wonder about him and made her start to consider something that she had not thought of in a long time.

The question _What do I do_ disappeared.

“Butch,” she said, and even she could hear the gravel in her throat.

She felt his body tense at the sound of her voice, and those raging hormones of hers went reeling.

“Y-yeah?”

Her hands traced the pockets of his jeans, tugged at his belt loops.

“I wanna go back to your place.”

***

The makeout session did not resume, unfortunately, but there was a lot of cuddling in the dark, which was nice, if a bit torturous. Boomer watched the numbers on the clock climb until Bubbles pulled away, insisting that she had to get going. He walked her to the door, kissed her goodbye, and came back to his room.

He flopped back onto his bed and blew out a breath. The names played out in his head, an endless refrain to a song before his time that he disliked more and more by the second.

A piece of advice floated up through the sludge, and he popped up, heading for his desk. There was a notebook somewhere here, yes, there it was. He thumbed through it, little clouds of dust billowing into the air, and found a blank page. A pen. He needed a pen. Nothing on the desk; he went to scrounge for one in his backpack. As soon as it was in his hand he wrote down the names. _Mike. Pablo. Sanjay. Will_.

He dropped the notebook to his desk, staring. Then, upon reflection, he ripped the page out and tore it to shreds.

_There_. Now they could stay out of his head, in the trash.

He flopped back on his bed with a sigh. The song faded. He could hear its echoes in the distance.

_That’s better._

***

Buttercup stared at Butch’s mattress, the reality of the situation dropping on her suddenly, all at once.

She had never done this before. What about condoms? Did Butch—she didn’t have any. And just thinking the word paralyzed her, let alone the thought of trying to figure out how to put one on. She’d felt so sure in the forest, but staring an actual bed in the face and getting slammed with what little she’d managed to retain from those excruciating mandatory health classes about birth control and pregnancy was another fucking story.

Seconds ago she had been flying in a daze, her insides rattling at the prospect, the possibility of this being The Night. But now, now panic took root in her, increasing exponentially as Butch landed behind her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She felt him draw close, his other hand brushing shakily against her own. The movement felt incredibly tender, so much so that it jarred her, and she twisted away so she could look at him and not his bed.

“I—” she started, and was momentarily struck by his expression, laced with shock and fear as she pulled away from him. The headiness of that long moment in the forest still simmered in her, and she wanted that back. His hands, his breathing, his voice, his warmth. But now his bed brushed against the back of her leg and she didn’t see how… how…

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she felt regret and anger and fear, all at once. “I… changed my mind. I just… I don’t think I can.”

She watched him, wondering if any of what she felt showed in her face. His attention flitted from her to the bed and back, and then his hand drifted back to his side.

“Okay.”

Buttercup wanted to say more, but she didn’t know where to start, or how, or even what it was.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay—”

“Seriously, I’m—”

“Dude, it—it’s okay.”

_I wanted to_ , she thought, yet couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. What was the use? What was the point of saying anything if it wasn’t going to happen?

“Um… see you tomorrow?” he asked, and that he could say it that way, like there was a possibility of the answer being _No_ , twisted her insides.

“Yeah. I mean, of course I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He exhaled. “Okay.”

“Good night,” she whispered, edging around him, to the window.

“Night,” he whispered back.

She left.

***

_I need a new sketchbook_ , Brick thought as he reclined in his Coil with the top down, taking in the night sky. He had parked himself on the rounded top of Mojo's observatory, a mild assurance of sorts that nobody would bother him. At least, nobody without superpowers.

Mojo himself had yet to break out of prison. Brick entertained the idea of helping him out, but quickly resolved that the monkey would only refuse his assistance out of pride and it would be a waste of time. It did concern him a little that Mojo was taking so long. But he was getting old, as things tended to, and there was little anyone could really do about it. Unless they invented a de-aging machine, but that would certainly pose its own set of problems, once you got past the science part of it.

Since he was still in the city it was hard to see all the stars, but a few twinkled at him. Same stars she was seeing, maybe. Depending on the time difference. What time was it over there?

He crooked his arms over his door and sighed, watching cars drift along the streets below. The lights in the city glittered as he stared vacantly down around him. Forget the sky. All the stars were down there. It was getting late on a Sunday night; few people would still be out. Maybe the girls had left. Maybe he could go back and not have to sit around trying to ignore Boomer and Bubbles making out and Butch and Buttercup doing… whatever the fuck it was they liked to do. Putting tape on cats or something.

The light wind picked up a little; he heard it disturb the pages of his sketchbook, lying open on his passenger seat, and he decided he'd spent long enough ignoring it and turned to pick it up. His face had gone warm before he even touched it and once again he was glad for the relative isolation of the observatory.

He leaned it against the steering wheel and took in the last one he'd done, an attempt at replicating what he'd seen the night that they'd first driven into Citysville, just the two of them. She was seated in his car, looking away from him as the wind blew her hair into a blur.

_I need a new sketchbook_ , he thought again as he flipped through the others. They were all pretty rough; he liked to sketch fast. He wished he'd had charcoal with him, but the 6B had worked fine. Here was one of her at the photo shoot, one of her in class, one of her from that infamous day when she'd arrived at the museum. Several more. The sheer number of them made him feel like if anyone came across this they would think he was a complete stalker, herself included.

_I'm not a stalker. I just miss her_.

The thought stilled his hand, and he stared blankly at her face before roughly shutting the book and tossing it back on the seat next to him. He buried his head in his arms and leaned on the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn. He swore at the blast of noise and threw himself back against his reclined seat, pissed off and angry and yet…

_I miss her_ , he thought to himself, and that was the good thing about being up here. Nobody could see him. Nobody could bother him.

His hands went into his hair, swept his cap off as they clenched against the crown of his head.

_I miss her_.

The admittance made something in his chest swell, a mix of relief and utter agony. He covered his face with his hands. Thank God he was up here by himself.

_I miss you. I miss you so God damn much_.

***

Butch had dropped onto his bed after Buttercup left, watching the moon as it slowly illuminated his room and wondering if it was something he’d done. He hadn’t… well, he didn’t think so. But he’d wondered anyway.

Not that thinking about it got him anywhere. So he’d pried off his sticky underwear and taken a shower and gotten into bed. It hadn’t even been ten.

For hours he laid on his side, staring at the half he wasn't sleeping in. Or, well, the half he wasn't lying awake in.

It was a full, and he usually took up the entirety of it. Even in sleep he was a restless guy—he moved around, kicked things off, occasionally hit the floor himself still snoring. He needed the space. But staring at it tonight, all he could think of was how two people could fit here, easily. It would be a bit of a squeeze, but squeezing wasn't necessarily a bad thing. They'd managed to sleep next to each other on nothing more than a hospital cot a few weeks ago.

He reached a hand out and rested it against the other pillow. It was soft, but felt nothing like her.

He groaned and turned his face into his pillow, cringing. So much for not thinking about it. Any of it. Her softness, her skin, her hair, her smell, her breathing, her eyes and her mouth making those mindblowing faces. God. It was like the best high he'd ever had, even better than the high he got from fighting, from breaking skin and bleeding. The intensity of the rush had been overwhelming. He'd wanted more of it, more of her.

Butch pulled his lips in between his teeth and fidgeted. For all that the high was fantastic, coming down was fucking excruciating.

And the worst thing. The absolute worst thing. Her voice, whispering to him. Even the memory of it was enough to silence the turmoil in his head, the equivalent of a pitch white tone, blocking out everything else.

Hearing her say that had been acknowledgment and acceptance, all at once. For that brief moment, she had wanted that too, wanted _him_. And that was what he couldn’t push out of his brain. The sudden tightness in his chest, the blinding joy that had overwhelmed and stunned him into silence.

He stared at his mattress, then slid his gaze over to his window. The moonlight coming through it was like a spotlight on the empty half of his bed, reaching out to him. He stared out at the night sky, imagining her suddenly appearing and coming in to fill the space he'd made for her. Maybe she'd change her mind. They wouldn’t even have to do anything. They could just lie here and, and be next to each other. That’s all. He wouldn’t even touch her.

Butch stared at the window until he felt stupid. He turned his back to it, but the hope that any second now he would feel the sheets shift against him as she crept in remained.

He waited.

***

_He's going to be weird about it_.

Buttercup stared at her ceiling. Her alarm was about ten minutes away from going off and she had not slept very well, if at all.

Crawling into bed and laying there in the dark had given her too much time to process and reflect. Thus, the entirety of her night had been devoted to dwelling on the circumstances that had led up to her terrible decision. She'd fucked up. She'd really, really fucked up. She spent all this time not wanting any of her friends to see her as just another girl, and then she went and gave Butch the opportunity to cash in on the fact that she _was_ one.

_He's going to be weird about it_ , she thought as she rose out of bed and went into the bathroom. _How could I have been so stupid_?

Her alarm was buzzing when she got back to their room; poor Bubbles had stuffed her head under her pillow.

“Why do you hate meeeee?” Bubbles moaned plaintively as Buttercup punched the OFF button.

_I can't believe I was that stupid_ , she thought as she rummaged for some clothes. She'd let her stupid horniness get the better of her. What was the big deal about sex, anyway? Just naked hugging, really. Nothing special.

_Nuthin’ special_ , she thought. She dressed and got out the door as quickly as possible. She wasn't very hungry, but she grabbed an energy bar from the pantry for breakfast, knowing she'd regret it later if she didn't eat something.

At the locker rooms she briefly entertained the possibility of running into Butch during his own morning practices for Basketball, simultaneously relieved and disappointed when she didn't. She was kind of useless during her own drills and felt embarrassed on her team's behalf.

When Athletics was her first block—as in today's case—her morning practices would continue on into the start of the actual school day, with a break during the passing period. She usually headed out to hang with the guys for a bit during the break.

Today, butterflies—actually, it felt more like yellow jackets—buzzed about in her stomach, either from not having eaten the energy bar yet or from the way she instantly felt Butch's eyes on her as she emerged from the gym and into the fray of another high school morning. She swallowed, fighting the urge to look back, and simply headed in the direction she felt his gaze coming from.

“Mornin',” the rest of the guys greeted her as she came up, and she mumbled something back as she slipped into the open space next to Butch.

“I keep debating whether to get the strings on my guitar replaced or not,” Floyd said.

“Really? I'd think that'd be an automatic yes.”

Buttercup chanced a glance at Butch, whose attention was elsewhere. She quickly looked back at the group before he noticed her looking. The yellow jackets buzzed on, frantic.

“Well, there's no band anymore, right? Plus there's all these college visits Mom's been getting on our case to do.”

“Which ones?”

“Nothing crazy. Like three. They're all in-state.”

It was like there was some sort of weird, tense energy standing between them; Buttercup could literally feel it vibrating against the hand of hers nearest him, nearly compelling her closer. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, which only did her the disservice of reminding her about last night. Not that she hadn't been thinking about it already.

“Mitch, have you applied anywhere?”

“Just TCC and that one up north. Don't remember the name. Not really interested. I was… I applied to one up where my Dad is, too. My old lady isn't crazy about that, but whatever. I don't know, I might just go out and try to get a job. I'm sick of school.”

She sensed Butch shifting his weight, first closer, then away. She looked around the atrium, not really taking in the people she was staring at.

“What about you, Butch?” Harry asked, and at the sound of his name Buttercup colored. “What're you going to do after graduation?”

“Head back home, probably,” he said, and the sudden reminder tightened her throat. “I mean, I guess. I don't really think that far ahead.”

“Dude, graduation isn't that far off.” Floyd laughed. “Like six months!”

“College or working?” Lloyd asked.

Butch scoffed. “Duh, working.”

She had not even been thinking about that, about his and his brothers' delayed departure. Despite their prolonged absence before the start of this year, all of a sudden Buttercup found it hard to imagine things without them around, without him around. Graduation _wasn't_ that far off; six months was barely any time at all—

“Buttercup, you're awful quiet today,” Harry said, and she jerked to. “What's up?”

“I—nothing,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and back. “I just had a shitty practice. I dunno. I didn't sleep at all. My morning's off to a weird start.”

“Everything okay?” Mitch asked, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Butch twitch.

“Seriously, it's nothing,” she said, feeling Butch's gaze on her. “I just need sleep. That's all.”

The guys moved on to another topic. She darted a look at Butch again, who seemed to only be feigning interest in the conversation.

“I, um,” she started quietly, and he blinked and looked at her, his expression somewhere between guarded and… something else. Hopeful?

“Yeah?” he said, the tone of his voice reflecting the look on his face.

“I forgot about the whole leaving thing,” she said, trying to sound casual instead of disappointed.

“Oh… yeah.”

The bell rang, which was just as well. Buttercup wasn't sure where to take the conversation after that, besides saying something dumb and generic like they should hang out more, except that was pointless because they had obviously been hanging out a lot already. Judging from last night, they'd been hanging out _too_ much.

The guys all started taking off towards their respective classes. Buttercup found herself lingering. Butch lingered too. With the rest of the group gone, the sudden physical memory of what had gone on between the two of them last night welled up in her, warming her skin.

She had been afraid he'd be weird about it, but save for the whole looking at her thing, he hadn't really seemed weird about much of anything.

_It's me_ , she realized dismally. _I'm the one who—_

“Should we go?” he asked, and oh, yeah. Basketball practice.

“Sure.”

They walked together across the atrium, her arms tightly crossed, his hands buried in his pockets. Without exchanging a word, they made their way up to the gym doors, the middle point between their respective locker rooms.

“I didn't sleep too good last night, either,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” she said, her voice climbing in pitch. She cleared her throat.

“Yeah.”

They stood there for a second, then, almost simultaneously—

“See you,” Butch said.

“Bye,” Buttercup said.

They turned and walked away from each other. She wished she'd said something else, but even after the fact, nothing came to mind. Not a single thing.

***

Come Wednesday morning everyone at school seemed particularly celebratory. Brick had no idea what was going on until he overheard someone in the hall shout—

“Happy birthday, Bubbles!”

Brick’s head snapped up as she thanked them. He snatched Bubbles by the shoulder as she glided past, and Boomer, who had been beside her, instantly grabbed Brick's wrist.

“Is it—Boomer, what the hell?”

Boomer blinked, then let go of his brother. “Sorry. Reflex.”

“What's up, Brick?” Bubbles asked.

“It's today?”

She gave him a broad grin and nodded. “Yep!” A thought occurred to her and she leaned closer. “Ooh! What did you get me?”

“You guys are eighteen now?” He dropped his hand from her shoulder as Boomer pulled her back.

“The big one-eight,” she said.

“I’m dating an older woman now,” Boomer said, grinning. “Hot.”

“Stop,” she said, swatting him.

“Oh.” Brick stood there for a second, then added lamely, “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you kindly,” she said with a curtsy. Brick thought of… no. If he asked, that would be too obvious.

He waved distractedly at them and continued on down the hall.

***

“So we're gonna start at the arcade,” Harry told the group at the end of the day as the after school crowd milled around them.

“You know, we never go to the skate park anymore,” Buttercup said. “Why can't we do that? It's _my_ birthday.”

“My wheels need fixing,” Mitch explained. “I haven't cleaned the bearings in, like, forever.”

“Oh, you dumbass,” she said. “Birthday ruiner.”

“Then there's the burger truck that's going to be downtown tonight. You know, the one where they serve a burger patty between two grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“Disgusting _and_ amazing,” Floyd said.

“Mitch, Ruiner of Birthdays. That should be your title.”

“Are you serious?” Butch asked. “That’s three sandwiches in one. How would you get your mouth around that thing?”

“Dude, I've got pics.” Floyd leaned over, holding out his phone. “Look.”

“Holy shit. That's _huge_.”

“That'd be a good title for a business card, actually. 'Mitch, Professional Ruiner of Birthdays.' That'd be awesome. I'd hand those out.”

“And _then,_ ” Harry said, speaking over the group, “we'll go to Butch's for some bad movies—”

“Wait, wait, no, we can't do that,” Butch said. “Barbie and Ken are celebrating _her_ birthday at our apartment tonight, and _nobody_ wants to be there for that, trust me.”

***

Professor Utonium was struggling with the groceries as he fumbled for his keyring at the front door. Man, so much for trying to do this all in one trip from the car—

“You’re home early,” Bubbles said brightly, taking a few bags off his hands and opening the door.

“Thank you, Bubbles.” They both made their way to the kitchen. “How was your day at school?”

“Good.” She started rummaging through one of the bags. “Oh, garlic! That's what I forgot. Professor, do you need all this garlic?”

“Well, no,” he said, setting his own bag down at the table. “But what do _you_ need it for?”

“I'm going over to Boomer's to cook dinner, and I forgot to grab garlic at the grocery store—oh, Professor, put down the knife.”

“I was just putting it away,” he said, returning it to the knife block. “Um… you're cooking dinner?”

“Yeah, I haven't cooked in a while with Buttercup doing most of it these days, and I kinda miss it, so I told him that's how I wanted to celebrate.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you want me to help you put this stuff away?”

“No, sweetie, I got it. You probably want to get going, huh?”

She smiled sheepishly at him.

He smiled back. “Bye, then. Have fun. Tell him I'm watching him.”

“I will do at least one of those things for sure,” she said on her way out the door, and then the house seemed extra quiet. Professor Utonium sighed and began packing things away. His phone buzzed, and he took it out, groaning.

“Please don't be a work thing,” he muttered, then paused. Buttercup was staying out; she wouldn't be home in time for dinner.

He stared at his phone for awhile, then slipped it back into his pocket and went back to organizing. He hadn't asked them what their plans were. He was still getting used to it. Before, it was monster attacks that would interrupt his time with them. At least that had given him something to be upset at—an enemy keeping them from each other. But now it was their own lives, and it wasn't fair for him to be angry at boyfriends or friends if they chose them over him.

He had planned this rather poorly. It was one thing to surprise them by taking time off work and coming home early to do dinner when they were kids. Now that they were growing up he had to remember that they were off making their own plans, all the time. He couldn't expect them to just be there, waiting for him to come home.

He put the last of the groceries away, then stood in the kitchen, trying to remember how to cook dinner for one.

***

“I can't wait to see you try and eat this ridiculous, amazing sandwich,” Lloyd said to Buttercup, peering through the food truck's window as they prepped her grilled-cheese-sandwich-burger. “Or burger. Sandwich-burger. That thing is literally the size of my head.”

“Are you challenging me?” she laughed. “'Try,' nothing. I'm going to _destroy_ that thing.”

“Gimme two,” Butch said to the guy at the window.

“ _Two_?!” the rest of them cried.

“Got two hands, don’t I?” He waggled the bottle of soda he'd purchased. “When I celebrate, I go all out.”

“Yeah,” Harry scoffed. “This is _definitely_ going all out. Sixteen hundred-calorie burgers and a trip to the arcade. Sorry you have such lame friends, Buttercup.”

“My friends are awesome,” she said. Then, after a beat, “You guys are okay, too.”

“Booooo,” the guys groaned.

“Hey,” she spoke over their _Boo_ ing, “what do you guys think about some night baseball or something after we're done here? Mitch, I saw your old bat in your van.”

“That's for protection, not for playing baseball.”

“So? It can still hit a ball, can't it?”

“It's Buttercup's birthday,” Floyd said. “We gotta do whatever the fuck she wants.”

“Everybody take off your clothes,” Buttercup said immediately. The guys _Boo_ ed again, which was almost instantly followed by Butch pretending to take off his shirt.

“You're the boss,” he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric of his t-shirt, and Buttercup yelped and snatched the hem of it to yank it back down.

The rest of the guys laughed; she shoved him back, then stepped away, avoiding everyone’s eyes. It was the first time they'd actually had any physical contact with each other since that night, and she found herself blushing despite the briefness of the touch. Butch stared at the ground with a forced grin on his face as he twisted his soda open.

“We need a baseball, too,” Harry said. “Mitch, you got one of those rolling around in your car?”

“Hell if I know,” Mitch said with a shrug. “But probably. I keep finding mystery items in the Death Trap. It's kinda like a blind-box on wheels.”

“Dude, rolling stuff in your car is dangerous. Didn’t you ever see _Final Destination_?”

Buttercup, who'd been casting furtive glances at Butch under the pretense of coveting his soda, made her way back to the order window and asked for one.

“Sorry,” the guy behind the counter said. “Your friend got the last one.”

“Oh. Never mind,” she said, and backed up as the four guys who hadn't ordered giant sandwich-burgers were called to pick up their food. She paced around, not wanting to drift too close while they waited.

Suddenly he held out his soda to her and she paused, glancing from it to him. His expression was neutral; he only tilted the bottle more towards her. She stared for a second.

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head and turning back to her pacing. “Thanks. I'm not that thirsty, anyway.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Butch pull the bottle back. The rest of the group returned with their burgers, a welcome distraction.

***

“I feel bad that I made you work on your birthday,” Boomer said, smoothing back her hair as they reclined on the couch and channel surfed.

“Oh, stop,” Bubbles said, kissing his chin. “I had a good time.”

“Mmm,” Boomer grunted, passing the remote to her. She turned the TV off. Without any lights on, the room darkened considerably.

“Mmm.” She sighed happily, and tucked into him a little more.

He glanced around. “The dark doesn't scare you?”

“I don't feel scared with you.”

Boomer's mind flew to her gift, hidden in his room. “Let me… wait here a second,” he said, switching the TV back on for light and then dashing to his bedroom.

The slim box was concealed in his backpack; he had been debating asking her to fetch something from his bag so she would just _happen_ across it, but he'd already pulled that stunt before with the guitar and the rose. He stared at the box. He'd feel stupid just handing it to her. He could get rid of the box entirely and just try to slip it around her neck.

The gold chain felt hot in his hand, all bundled up and tangling as he floated back to the couch. She was sitting so pretty right in the center of it, her legs tucked daintily underneath her and her smile sweet as she looked up at him. He stood over her for a second, mesmerized.

“So?” she said, grinning all the while. “What'd you get me?”

He stared at her and swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words, for movement. She'd like it, right? There was no way she wouldn't like it. But… it wasn't _really_ just a birthday gift. At seventeen, how could you look at someone and tell her you didn't ever want to know anyone else for the rest of your life? That she was enough? What if she didn't feel the same way?

He knew she loved him. But he would literally do anything for her. Anything she asked. Even anything she _didn't_ ask.

“I, uh…” he started, and clenched the necklace concealed in his hand. All he had to do was loop it around her neck. Or just hand it over. He reached for her cheek, feigning a move in for a kiss. Then, as his hand skimmed along the nape of her neck, he had a sudden thought.

_What if one of them had already given her one_?

He hesitated. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and expectant.

The tangle of gold chain went into his pocket as he sat next to her and adopted a remorseful look.

“It isn’t ready yet,” he whispered, and she blinked.

“Really?” she said, a little disbelief coloring her tone.

“I’ve… gotta check on something before I can give it to you. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“Yeah?”

They sat there in silence for a second. Boomer tried to come up with a better excuse.

She sighed and leaned against him, weaving her arm in his.

“I had a nice time, still.”

“Me too. Happy birthday.”

“Boomer.”

He looked at her. Her expression was one of genuine concern.

“You’ll tell me if anything’s wrong, right?”

Of course he would. Nothing was wrong. He just wanted to make sure nobody else had given her a necklace. He just wanted to make sure he was the only one.

“I know,” he told her, and kissed her. “I will.”

***

Bubbles eased through the window of their bedroom. She and Boomer had made an early night of it, what with it being a school night and all. It was her own little way of honoring Blossom in her absence. The house, however, was already dark—the Professor must've turned in early. She flipped on a table lamp and changed quickly, away from the windows, smiling at the memory of Boomer's nervous arms around her. Something about it was just very sweet. He was very sweet.

Before getting into bed she wanted to get a glass of water. She floated downstairs and into the kitchen, where she paused. On the table were two small cakes. A greeting card sat between them.

She stared and felt herself start to tear up. Oh, the Professor! She hadn't even asked! He'd been here all by himself!

She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and picked up her cake, a small laugh escaping her.

_I can't believe he put our faces on these_. Something resembling her five-year-old self grinned back at her from the icing. She swiped at her eyes again.

The front door opened—Buttercup was home—and Bubbles glanced at the other cake. Buttercup hadn't been home for their birthday either.

“Buttercup,” she whispered, and within seconds her sister's head peeked around the doorframe.

“What?” she asked, and Bubbles indicated the table. Buttercup came and had a turn staring down her own cake.

“I can't believe he put our faces on these,” she finally muttered.

“Yeah,” Bubbles said, sniffling and wishing she'd asked before she left.

“Is he still awake?”

“No,” Bubbles said as Buttercup picked up the card. “I heard him snoring in his room.”

“This is so cheesy,” Buttercup said, indicating the front of the card. Three cartoon ducklings were waddling after their parent.

Bubbles laughed. “Let me see.”

“The inside says there's lasagna in the fridge if we get hungry,” Buttercup said as she handed it to her and wandered away. “He made too much.” Bubbles looked at the ducklings and wondered which one would be her. She heard Buttercup rummaging for something in the silverware drawer. Her sister then returned with two forks and offered one to her.

“I wish I was hungrier,” Bubbles said sadly as she took a seat at the table.

“Me too,” Buttercup said, taking a seat as well. “I had like a twenty-thousand calorie burger tonight.”

“Oh, barf.”

“Butch had two.”

“Double-barf,” Bubbles said, gagging as she stuck her fork into her cake. “Stop ruining my appetite.”

“I didn't regret it at the time. Thing was delicious.”

“You'll regret heart disease,” Bubbles said between bites.

“Mostly because if that happens it'll mean the Chemical X isn't doing its job. What flavor is yours?”

“It tastes like chocolate. Why? Is yours different?”

“It's red velvet. So the same, just red. Here. Try some.”

“I don’t think yours is vegan. But you can have some of mine.” She shared a bite with her sister and watched as she chewed. “I wish I'd stayed.”

“Yeah,” Buttercup said.

“Or I wish I could've been in two places at once.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want your present now?”

Buttercup shook her head. “Why? Do you want yours now?”

“No,” Bubbles said. “I wanted to wait until Blossom got back.”

“Me too.”

Bubbles nudged Buttercup's leg. “You big softie.”

“Shut up. My cake is better than yours. The Professor loves me more.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“What'd Boomer get you?”

Bubbles paused. “He, uh…”

“Oh God, never mind, stop. Forget I asked.”

“It's not _that_ ,” Bubbles sighed. “He said it wasn’t ready yet.”

Buttercup stopped eating and stared. “That sounds like he straight up _forgot_.”

“He didn't forget! He said he needed to check on something.”

“Well, I know you wouldn't stand for that shit from _me_. He got off lucky.”

“Stop. He's got a lot on his mind lately.”

“'Bout what?”

“I dunno. Stuff. He hasn't actually told me. I just have a feeling.”

“Mmm.”

“What did Butch get you?”

Buttercup's chewing slowed and she gave her sister a look. “Why would Butch get me anything?”

“Um, 'cause you're friends?”

“My friends all took me out to get a giant grilled cheese burger-sandwich—”

“Still ew,” Bubbles said, making a face.

“And to the arcade and to a late night screening at the old theater downtown. I got to do it on their collective dime. _That_ was my present. And it was awesome. Also, I got lotto tickets.” She pulled some out of her pocket and waved them at Bubbles.

“Oh. Okay.” Bubbles got up and made to wrap up the rest of her cake.

“Why are you so interested? Here, I’m done with mine, too.”

Bubbles shrugged as she took the remnants of her sister's cake from her.

“Just curious.”

She sat at the table again. Buttercup hadn't moved; she had picked up the card and was looking at it.

“Pretty anticlimactic for an eighteenth birthday, huh?” Buttercup said.

“I guess. Well, you bought lotto tickets. And all our friends are taking us out for dinner on Friday, don't forget.”

“We can vote now, too. Wonder if that's how Blossom's celebrating. Oh, wait, she has to register, doesn't she?”

“I don't feel like an adult yet.”

“Wasn't the Professor supposed to get me a car?”

“He said when you’re eighteen, not on your eighteenth. Did you have a good birthday anyway?”

Buttercup sighed. “Yeah.” She passed the card over, and Bubbles took a turn staring at the cover.

“Happy birthday, Bubbles.”

Bubbles smiled and leaned her head on her sister's shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Buttercup.”

***

At lunch on Friday, the girls and Boomer found themselves staring at a none-too-happy Princess, who had come over and decided to occupy valuable standing space next to their cafeteria table. After a considerable amount of time had gone by, Buttercup frowned.

“What? Do you need help or something?”

Princess mumbled something indecipherable.

“What was that?” Bubbles asked, squinting.

“I have superhearing and I _still_ didn't hear you,” Buttercup added.

“ _Mother_ ,” Princess said, her teeth gritted, “would like to see you all at the Manor tomorrow.”

Blinks were exchanged. Princess stared at the tile so hard it wouldn't have surprised anyone if lasers suddenly shot out of her eyes.

Bubbles broke the silence. “Neat!”

Princess winced.

“What's the occasion?” Buttercup asked, wary.

“Your _birthday_ ,” Princess managed, looking as if saying the word physically pained her. “The celebration at the end of the month. She wants to talk to you.” Princess directed her attention to Boomer. “All of you.”

Boomer stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Meaning you and your _brothers_ , too.” Having delivered her missive, Princess spun away and stalked over to the doors, disappearing out of sight.

Buttercup shrugged. “Guess she didn't feel like eating. So, has anyone told you where they're taking us for dinner yet?”

***

Butch stood at the drive to the Manor for a second. To any of his four companions—Boomer, Bubbles, Buttercup, and the Professor—he probably looked as if he were taking a moment to gawk at the estate. In truth, he couldn't care less about the size of the house; he and his brothers had seen plenty and broken into most of the ones they'd seen. What held him back (besides Professor Utonium's unnerving glares) was the memory of sitting next to Buttercup at dinner last night with all their friends and then some, both of them rendered incapable of talking to each other by the invisible electricity that had settled in permanently since last Sunday. It threw them off—in conversation, in company, even in just being alone.

So he hung back in an effort to minimize that electricity, to avoid it, and partly so he could look at her discreetly with diminished fear of getting caught. Although standing apart from her wasn't actually that much better than standing right next to her.

As he followed the group up the drive, Butch thought of the weeks leading up to it, how much they'd been hanging out, just the two of them, and was more than a little bitter at how much one stupid night had fucked it all up.

“Is Brick here yet?” he heard Bubbles ask.

“He should be,” Boomer said.

“ _No eye contact._ ”

“Yes, sir,” both Boomer and Butch said.

“There she is!” Bubbles began waving. “Hi, Penelope!”

“Bubbles,” the Professor said sternly. “It's more polite to use her family name.”

“But she _said_ to call her Penelope, Professor…”

“Hello, everyone!” Mrs. Morbucks greeted them at the door and waved them inside. “Please, come in. Sorry if I'm a little rushed, but the chef for next month's holiday party dropped in this morning—wasn't expecting him, and he's _so hard_ to get a hold of. I'm a little swamped with guests today.”

“A chef? Ooh, how neat!” Bubbles exclaimed as Butch began to tune the conversation out. “Which chef? Does he have a show? Is he on TV?”

“Well, he doesn't have a show, so I don't think you'll know him, though he does possess some celebrity. Adrien Carême—”

“Carême?” Buttercup said, suddenly perking up, and the mere sound of her voice arrested Butch's attention. “The… the Carême of the book _Carême and the Art of French Cuisine_? That Carême?”

Mrs. Morbucks looked impressed. “Yes! You've heard of him?”

The lady might as well have told Buttercup her favorite athlete was visiting; Butch couldn't believe how starstruck Buttercup looked.

Bubbles turned to her sister. “Lucky you!”

“I… I've been…” Buttercup's sentence collapsed, and she mouthed the air, trying to find the next word.

“She's cooked her way through one book and just started working on another of his,” Professor Utonium spoke for her.

Mrs. Morbucks' eyes lit up. “How impressive! Well then, once we're finished with our meeting I'll have to introduce you.”

“Seriously?!” Buttercup goggled, and Butch couldn't help it; he snorted.

A sudden, intense glare from the Professor sent Butch scooting back a few feet and muttering apologies.

“Sorry, sorry. I wasn't making fun of her, I just thought it was—”

_Cute_ , he had been about to say, but had the sense to stop before the word left his mouth completely. It still didn't help his yardage with the Professor; the intensity of the man's eyes flared, as if Butch had just tried to douse a fire with gasoline. He slunk further back.

“We'll swing by after we're done,” Mrs. Morbucks assured a wide-eyed Buttercup. “Now, as for the matter of your girls' birthday party at the end of the month—come in here, all of you, let's have a seat and talk comfortably about this. Brick and Princess will be joining us soon enough.”

***

Princess had ordered him to stop there. Given the choice he'd rather have gone straight to the Manor after they’d picked up his suit, but she was on the verge of throwing a fit, so he complied.

Brick pocketed the keys and leaned against the front bumper, watching as she strode purposefully away from him to Townsville Prison. Girls seemed to like to do that around him lately—get angry, then stalk away.

Well. Maybe not _all_ girls. Just the redheads.

He let his superhearing focus through the prison walls into the visiting room. There were more people than he expected in there, but as he recalled, weekends always found the place busy with visitors. He couldn't pick her out—strange thing, considering how shrill and distinct her voice was. They probably hadn't brought her dad out yet.

“ _Daddy!_ ” he suddenly heard her cry, and then, “Oh, Daddy, it's been so horrible! How can you still be in jail?! You need to hurry up and get out, because my life is an absolute _mess_ and you need to get out, you need to get out and fix it!”

Brick tuned it out, sighing as he settled all his weight against the car. What was it with girls and their dads? Granted, he was only really familiar with the girls and Utonium, and peripherally, at that. What did he know?

_Nothing_ , he thought. It wasn't like _he'd_ had a father figure worth fawning over. He wasn't even the type to fawn in the first place.

He kicked at the gravel under his feet, ignoring the wary looks the prison guards were throwing his way as he waited for Princess to return so he could take her home to her mother.

***

The Professor looked equal parts elated and uneasy.

“Well,” he said carefully, “if you girls are okay with it…”

Bubbles and Buttercup each represented the different parts Professor Utonium was feeling.

“I'm okay with it!” Bubbles said excitedly.

“I don't think Blossom will be,” Buttercup muttered. She appeared a little disappointed as well.

“I'm not sure Brick will be, either,” Boomer said. “I mean… we should talk about it with him—”

“I’ll fill him in when he gets here,” Mrs. Morbucks said. “And I'm sure he'll be much more amenable to it than you think. There will be payment involved.”

“Money?” Buttercup said in disbelief. “How come _we_ don't get any money?”

“Would you like money?” Mrs. Morbucks asked.

“Virtue is its own reward,” Bubbles said proudly.

“Yeah, well,” Buttercup grumbled, crossing her arms and hunkering down in her seat. “Virtue's not gonna buy me a car.”

“Hard work brings its own reward,” Professor Utonium said.

Buttercup groaned and shot her family a dirty look.

Mrs. Morbucks set down her teacup. “Well, there's little more to discuss until Brick and Princess return from their date,” she said, inspiring a series of snorting from Boomer and Bubbles, grumbling from Butch, and, in Buttercup's case, a bit of coughing as she set down her own tea. “I'd like to go check in on Carême. Would you all care to accompany me?”

“The girls and I will go with you,” Professor Utonium said, darting a severe look at the boys.

“Yeah, we should wait for Brick,” Boomer said.

“That is a great idea,” Butch added.

Buttercup was at the door before the rest of her family had risen to their feet. She tried to look nonchalant as Mrs. Morbucks led them to the kitchen, but by the time they got there she was wide-eyed and fidgeting restlessly.

“Chill out,” Bubbles whispered to her, putting an arm around her sister's waist and squeezing. “Don't be nervous.”

“I don't know what to say to him,” Buttercup hissed back. “'Hi, I'm a superhero, also I like to cook and your food is awesome?' God, I sound like such a _dork!_ ”

“You'll be fine, sweetie,” the Professor said.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, but she relaxed a little at her father's voice.

“ _Adrien?_ _Mon ami?_ ” Mrs. Morbucks strode in ahead, maneuvering past several people familiarizing themselves with the kitchen to a man who looked old enough to be her father peering out the bay window above the sink. He turned at the sound of her voice and a broad smile lit his face, crinkling the well-worn crow’s feet at his eyes.

“Welcome back,” he said, in slightly accented English.

“So sorry I had to step away. Tell me, do you like the kitchen?”

“Modeled after the one back home, I noticed,” he said, casting a look around.

Mrs. Morbucks turned back to her guests. “Adrien's team is poking about to make sure they have everything they'll need for next month.”

“Hello!” Adrien smiled and nodded at them. “Are you the superhero girls? Penelope mentioned you. It is a pleasure.”

“Hello,” Professor Utonium said.

“Hi,” Buttercup mumbled.

“ _Bonjour,_ _monsieur_ ,” Bubbles said brightly.

The man's eyes lit up. “ _Bonjour!_ ”

Mrs. Morbucks interjected before Carême could launch into conversation with Townsville's resident linguist. “Adrien, please. I have to introduce you. One of these ladies was so excited when she heard you were here.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” he said, grasping Bubbles' hand. “It is wonderful to meet you.”

Buttercup bit her lip as Mrs. Morbucks corrected him. “Adrien, darling, this young lady here. This is Buttercup.”

“Oh! My mistake,” he said, laughing, and turned to the dark-haired girl, who stiffened. “But it is wonderful to meet both of you, of course.”

“H-hello,” Buttercup managed, and seemed at a loss where to go from there. Mrs. Morbucks swooped in once again like a lifeline.

“Buttercup has been studying your recipes,” she explained. “She's been through one of your books cover to cover already.”

“Oh?” Carême peered at Buttercup with renewed interest. “Which book? _L'art de la cuisine F_ _rançaise_?”

“Um…” Buttercup glanced at Bubbles askance, who nodded her head vigorously. “Yes? I mean, yes! And I'm on your other—The French Chef's Cookbook—now.”

“Wonderful! Buttercup, allow me to ask, what piqued your interest in my cooking?”

“Um, well, my dad.” She waved at the Professor behind her. “He, uh, wanted to punish me—” At Carême's befuddled expression and a wide-eyed Bubbles motioning frantically behind the man Buttercup corrected hastily, “I mean, no! It wasn't a punishment! I mean, it started out as a punishment, because I had to make dinner, like, every day, but then I started to enjoy myself, so it didn't really feel like I was being punished even though I was…”

Bubbles stopped motioning and just covered her mouth, either out of sympathetic mortification or because she was trying not to laugh.

“Mr. Carême,” Professor Utonium said, “I've never seen this girl enjoy a punishment so much.”

“I-I did,” Buttercup added. “It was way better than being grounded.”

“And for once we _all_ benefited from it,” her father said.

Carême's grin was wide, his eyes bright. “How unusual! Oh, well, please, show me what you have learned!”

Buttercup froze. “What?”

“We are in a kitchen, aren't we?” Carême gestured behind him. “Come, come, show me. You cooked one of my dishes every day, didn't you?”

“Sometimes two or three,” Bubbles put in. “Apéritif and dessert as well.”

“Then you are practically an expert!” He beckoned her further into the room and waved his hand at the rest of his staff. “Everybody out of the way! This girl needs to cook!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Buttercup cried. “I don't have your books here with me! It's not like I have them memorized!”

“I have his entire collection,” Mrs. Morbucks supplied. “Let me go fetch them.”

“No, no, no, you do not need the books to show me what you have learned,” Carême dismissed. “Recipes are good tools, but we cannot always depend on them in the kitchen.” He guided her to the center of the kitchen, at the island. “Now, go! Put together a meal.”

He stepped back. The rest of the group had lined up against the breakfast bar and were all watching her expectantly, her father and sister included. Buttercup stood there for a second, then looked at her family, her brow furrowing in a non-verbal cry of _Are you seriously letting this happen to me?!_

“Yay, Buttercup!” Bubbles cheered. “You can do it!” The Professor gave her the most awkward thumbs up she had ever seen.

“Take your time.” Carême clasped his hands behind him.

Buttercup stared at the chef she hadn't even dreamed of meeting up until she'd realized she was within ten feet of him. He had what she assumed was his brigade standing next to him in a neat, attentive line—about a dozen people, people he'd probably hand-selected, and if they were working with him, then they were some of the best chefs in the world. Or at least really, really good.

And here she was, newly eighteen, and she had to _cook_ in front of _them?_

Buttercup swallowed, then turned and floated down the length of that immense kitchen to the refrigerator.

***

“Sooooo boooooored,” Butch moaned, rolling around on the floor. “It’s been a fucking hour!”

“What do you think they're up to?” Boomer asked from the ceiling, where he was pretending to stand.

“How the fuck do I know?” Butch said, rolling onward. “Shit, there's nothing to _do_ here!”

“Do you smell something?”

“Something what? Something like boring?”

“Something like cooking,” Boomer said.

Butch stopped rolling and lifted his head. “Hey, yeah.”

Suddenly they heard a door slam from elsewhere in the Manor, followed by Princess' shrill voice bouncing off the walls.

“—and of course _you_ wouldn't get it, because you're practically one of _them!_ You were born special, you were born gifted, while the rest of us normal human beings have to walk around beneath you all—”

“Are you trying to get me to feel sorry for you?” Brick's voice bounced back, and both of his brothers' eyes widened. “Bitching about this isn't going to get you anywhere. You either do something about it or just accept it—”  
  


“What do you _think_ I've been trying to do my entire _life?_ ” Princess shrieked. “I've been trying to 'do something about it' ever since I _met_ those stupid girls! Ugh!”

The _clack_ of her shoes as she stalked away reverberated, growing softer as they receded into the distance. Boomer and Butch, who had crept to the closed door, chanced opening it. Their brother was standing in the hall, looking away from them.

“You know, every time you fight with a girl you sound like a married couple arguing,” Boomer said, eliciting a glare from Brick.

“Yeah,” Butch grumbled. “Why are you always taking the hot ones?”

“Shut up,” Brick muttered, a clouded expression on his face. Then, “I do not always take the hot ones.”

“And they're always redheads, too,” Boomer added. “What is it with that? Is it because you can’t date yourself?”

“Do you really want my fist in your throat, Boomer?”

“It's just an observation.”

“Have you talked to your new girlfriend's old lady yet?” Butch asked. “And by the way, if she's your new girlfriend, can I have your old one?”

“ _I fucking hate you both_.”

***

_Adrien Carême is eating my food. Chef Adrien Carême is eating my food. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God please let the meat be cooked. Please don't let me food poison him. Oh God please let it not be poisoned. Oh God oh God oh God._

Buttercup had checked the chicken’s temperature twice and x-rayed it for good measure, so deep down she knew she had nothing to worry about, but with how on edge all her nerves were it may as well have been a life or death situation. She could barely recall what she had made; something in her had shifted into autopilot and now that all the cooking was done she stared at the appetizer, entrée, and dessert like a blind person whose sight had just been restored.

He took one bite of each—a soup, the stress-inducing chicken dish, and what looked like a pudding ( _Did I make that? Oh God, why can't I remember?!_ )—and, after dabbing his mouth with a napkin, smiled at her.

“You move well in the kitchen. Very quick. That’s good.”

“Thank you,” Buttercup croaked, then cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said again.

“And you have good knife technique.”

“Well, the pictures in your book… helped a lot. And these were really nice knives—”

“Would you like to help us at next month's dinner party?”

Buttercup stopped, uncomprehending. Behind her, she heard Bubbles withhold a squeak of joy.

“Oh, but wait.” Carême sighed, disappointment tinging his expression. “You probably want to join the dinner party—”

“No! I don't! I mean, the party! I don't have to go! I could help you in the kitchen! Not that you need the help, obviously, but I—yes! I'd love to!”

“Wonderful! I have my first task for you, then…”

Buttercup blinked as he took a sheet of paper off the counter and passed it to her.

“This is the proposed menu for next month's party. Can you note where I can find the necessary ingredients? Madame Morbucks will be flying in some items—you can clarify with her—but I would like to supply the dinner as locally as possible.”

Buttercup crushed the sheet to her chest and nodded.

“You are a natural in the kitchen. _Merci pour le repas_.” He smiled at her once more, then turned to Mrs. Morbucks.

“I'm afraid we must leave—we are joining the French president on his cruise tomorrow…”

Everyone exchanged their goodbyes. Carême and his brigade departed, with Mrs. Morbucks in tow to see her guests off. As soon as the door had shut behind them, Bubbles was jumping up and down, unable to contain her excitement by proxy.

“I—am—so—ex—cit—ed—for—you!” she squealed, managing a word with each bounce. She grabbed Buttercup's shoulders and threw all her weight against her sister, who barely budged. “You're so good! You're _so good_. You totally rock!”

“Yes, Buttercup,” the Professor said as he polished off the soup. “This mushroom soup is delicious.”

Bubbles gasped in horror. “Professor! You didn't save me any!”

“Honey, she put cream in it. You can’t have cream.”

“I liked the smell,” Bubbles said, pouting.

“I actually have to run,” the Professor said, cutting a piece of chicken and stuffing it into his mouth. “I'll have to catch up with you—oh my God, this is good, Buttercup—later. Will you two be all right?”

“Yes, Professor,” they said as he cut and chewed as fast as he could.

“See you tonight.” He wiped his mouth, kissed Bubbles' forehead, and gave Buttercup a squeeze. “Congratulations, honey.” Then, pointing at the chicken, “Please make that tomorrow.”

Bubbles picked up the pudding and dug in as their father strode out of the room.

“I can't believe that just happened to me,” Buttercup said in a small voice. Bubbles offered her a small bite of the dessert; Buttercup closed her mouth around the spoon distractedly. “I met Carême. I _met Carême_. I cooked food for him.”

“And now you get to work with him next month,” Bubbles said, offering her another bite.

“Is this for real? Is this seriously real life right now?”

“Maybe not,” Bubbles said. “But hey! As long as it makes you happy. Want to go find the boys?”

***

“What's wrong, Brick?”

Brick darted a glance at Mrs. Morbucks, who had caught him up on the proposal after walking a bunch of people out of the Manor. Something about a chef, or whatever.

He rolled his shoulders and sighed as they exited the sitting room. “Nothing. I was just thinking situations like this come up a lot.”

“I'm pretty sure this is the first time something of this nature has been discussed.”

“I meant you asking a favor.”

“Well, you can think of it less as a favor and more as a gift for the girls that you're contributing to. Unless you already have your gift for them?”

As they approached the main part of the house, music could be heard emanating from the living room, and when they rounded the corner leading to it, they found Boomer and Bubbles dancing while Butch and Buttercup looked on from opposite ends of the room.

Mrs. Morbucks smiled. “Found the stereo, I see!”

Bubbles laughed as she danced clumsily in Boomer's arms. “Couldn't help ourselves!”

Brick couldn't help it either; he cringed as he watched them galumph around each other.

Bubbles caught his expression and stuck her tongue out at him. “Ooh, Mr. Fancypants, getting all critical.”

Brick rolled his eyes, zipped up behind Boomer, and kicked the back of his knee. As his brother buckled, Brick looped an arm around Bubbles' waist and spun her away.

“Eek!” Bubbles squeaked, then, playfully, “Help, help! I'm being stolen!”

“See?” Brick said to Boomer. “I’m fine with blondes, too.”

“Hey!” Boomer snapped.

Butch sidled up next to Buttercup.

“Hey,” he said, and she looked at him. “You wanna, um, go hang outside? It's getting kind of stupid in here.”

Buttercup took a long moment staring past him to consider. “Sure.”

As they left, Bubbles changed her tune.

“Oh my God, why did I never dance with you before?” Bubbles said as Brick continued to guide her around the room. “Never mind! I don't need the help after all!”

“You call this dancing? I'm basically dragging you around the room,” he said. Although, he had to admit, she _was_ getting the hang of it, and her footwork improving with every step.

A spark of blue skittered across Boomer’s hands.

“Mother!” Princess' voice behind him suddenly snapped. “What are they still doing here? And why are they making such a racket? I'm _trying_ to do my homework!”

“Oh, Princess, please. Lying doesn't become you.”

Boomer turned to grab Princess, who shrieked as he shoved her at Brick and Bubbles. Brick, catching the movement, pulled Bubbles away in one hand and caught Princess' hand with his other, using her momentum to send her into a twirl.

“Nice try, Boomer,” he said as he pulled both girls away without missing a step.

“A three-way dance! _This is so cool_ ,” Bubbles gushed. Princess, on the other hand, appeared to have been stunned into silence. Bubbles started to sing along with the song on the stereo, continually acclimating herself to the steps.

_Impressive for her_ , he thought, but she _was_ a Powerpuff Girl. Princess, on the other hand…

“Aren't you _in_ Dance?” Brick asked scornfully as she stumbled over herself. He realized his mistake a second too late.

“I don't do Ballroom!” she cried. So much for blissful silence from her. “And I haven't been practicing! I'm out of practice!”

“Oh, Princess, you're a fine dancer,” Bubbles said, and took hold of Princess' free hand. “I'd dance with you!”

Princess ripped herself away from the both of them and glared.

“I'd rather eat cat food,” she snarled, and whipped around to stalk off.

_Fucking weird thing to say_ , Brick thought, and then stopped. Princess had returned from France with her signature red curls straightened, and striding away from him angry, with a huff, she looked like… like…

The pull in his chest twisted, like a wrench tightening a bolt.

She seemed to draw closer to him, and then she turned, her expression shocked. Princess stared at Brick wide-eyed, and he blinked. She glanced down, and when he followed her gaze, he realized—he had moved after her and grabbed her wrist.

Princess’ lip curled. “Let go.”

Brick snapped his hand away, angry and embarrassed by his blunder. Behind him, Boomer had recovered Bubbles and now refused to let her leave his side.

“Brick.” The word went through him, like an ice pick in his back. Princess' mother was seated in an armchair, her fingers idly working one of her own red curls as she looked on. “I think it's about time you and your brothers got going, don't you?”

***

“So you're… cooking for that big thing next month, huh?”

Buttercup shrugged as she and Butch loitered at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the Manor's front door.

“I guess. Well, I don't know how much cooking I'll do. I don't know. I don't think that's how it works. Maybe? I don't know. There's like, sixteen other cooks or something on his team. Right now I'm just supposed to find these ingredients from around here.” She drew the list from Carême out of her pocket and unfolded it, holding it out for Butch to see. He glanced and grunted. After a second more, she pulled it back and re-folded it, running her hands along the creases. They looked around them—at the ground, at the sky, at the immense drive that seemed to go off forever into the distance.

“I feel like—” Butch started.

“You know—” Buttercup started, and the both of them stopped. They waited a second to see if the other would continue. Butch bit first.

“I feel like things have gotten all weird,” he blurted. “Between… you and me. Since… you know.”

She forced a laugh. “Understatement.”

“Yeah.”

They shifted, a little towards each other, then a little away.

“And I don't want things to be weird,” he continued. Buttercup closed her hands into fists.

“Me neither,” she said.

“I want to just, you know, hang out and stuff.”

“Me too.”

“And I want us to be cool again.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

“Can we be cool again?”

_I'd like that_ , Buttercup wanted to say, but this was so weird, so different from either of her other situations. She and Mitch… nobody would call them “cool” now, exactly, especially knowing how the two of them used to be so close. And she'd never done anything—at _all_ —remotely resembling what she'd wound up doing with Butch with any of her other guy friends that had liked her.

_But I don't really know that he likes me_. Maybe Butch had just been horny, like her. Maybe it was just a fluke. But then she remembered the way he had touched her when they’d gotten back to his room, how his hand had trembled against her own—

_That isn’t being cool, Buttercup._

She didn’t want the weirdness of the aftermath with Mitch, and she didn’t want this weirdness, either.

_I just want us to be okay_ , she thought, as Butch waited.

“Yeah,” she said, finally. “I like…”

She felt like blushing. She hoped she wasn't.

“I'd like that.”

She met his eyes. Neither of them smiled.

“Cool,” he said.

Then he swept her leg, sending her crashing on her back to the stone steps.

“ _Ow!_ You _fucker!_ ” she shouted, furious, as he cackled.

***

_I keep doing stupid shit_ , Brick thought to himself as he got a head start on sketches for his drafting project next semester. It was good work for him; the clean, straight lines were comforting. His sculpture was on the art class shelf behind his head, awaiting Miss Maybury's kiln. That had been more abstract, a complicated mass of curves and points colliding with each other. Maybury had loved it (“So dramatic!” she'd exclaimed), but it made Brick uneasy to look at and he didn't like it. Sculpting just wasn't for him.

Drafting was nice, though. It even streamlined his thinking. It made him rational. He liked that.

He had been thinking about her too much. The distance had actually been good for him. He needed that. Saturday had been a wake-up call; mistaking Princess for _her_ , even unconsciously, had been a grave mistake. He was lucky nobody realized why he’d done that.

His brain needed to move on to other things. Clean, straight lines. He had things he wanted to do, things he—

“Hey, Brick,” Bubbles said, dropping into the seat next to him and ruining his concentration.

“Go away,” he groaned.

“Here,” she said, holding her phone out to him. He wrinkled his face at her. Miss Maybury didn't care about students using their phones in class, something that everybody frequently abused to the fullest extent.

“What? I'm busy.”

“ _Bubbles!_ ” the voice on the line yelped, mortified. Brick's heart catapulted into his throat, and the tip of his pencil broke against his sketchpad. “ _I was just asking, I told you I don't need to—_ ”

“Blossom?” Brick said, his voice like a gasp for air, and Bubbles automatically pressed her phone to the side of his face and let go. He fumbled hastily for it to keep it from dropping.

“ _Brick?_ ”

That voice.

“ _H-hey,_ ” she said, somehow sounding better than he remembered. “ _How're things?_ ”

“Fine,” he managed, feeling feather-light. He started to erase the line he'd fudged. “Whatever.” After another moment he asked, “How about you?”

“ _Yeah. I'm_ _doing well_ _._ _The campuses I’ve been visiting are really nice_.”

“That's… nice.”

“ _Yeah_.”

Brick looked around. Bubbles had gone to the other side of the room to chat with some friends while they sketched. A few of them were still finishing up their sculptures. Brick swallowed and wondered if anyone was eavesdropping.

“You, um… you know Princess came back,” he said, and then felt like jabbing the broken point of the pencil into his head.

“ _I heard. Bubbles told me_. _She said she loved her new clothes_. _An_ _d_ _you guys have been hanging out?_ ”

“Her mom asked a favor. You know… her mom and favors.” Okay, he needed to move on to another topic or something. “Hey, are you cool with next week? At least, I think it's next week.”

“ _O_ _h,_ _well, yeah. Sort of. I mean, it sounds okay, but I want to make sure we get together with the Mayor and Ms. Bellum and discuss it with everyone in person._ ”

“You sound a little worried. Don't you trust us?” he said, trying to bring some humor into it. He tried forcing a laugh, then winced. Oh, God. Why had he thought that would be a good idea? He needed to avoid doing that.

“ _It's not that I don't trust you, it's just… this is, you know, kind of important to me_.”

The gravity of her words settled like a weight on his chest, heavy with expectation. She was counting on him. He couldn't believe she'd agreed to this. Not that she'd really had a choice, but…

“Don't worry. I know it means a lot to you. You don't have to worry about it.”

There was silence on her end for a bit, then, in a voice that sounded very little and only magnified his awareness of the distance between them:

“ _Thanks, Brick_.”

It made him want to pick up his charcoal and start sketching. He tried not to look at the clock. If he didn't know how much time they had left, he could pretend they could do this for as long as they wanted.

“ _Hey—_ ”

What a sweet, pretty voice she had.

“ _Um. I don't know if my sisters mentioned anything. Bubbles and I were talking about it, and we'd have to check with the Professor, but… what are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?_ ”

***

A couple of days later the boys were standing on the girls' front porch. Brick hit the doorbell while his brothers squirmed behind him.

“What exactly are you supposed to _do_ at Thanksgiving?” Boomer asked. “Like, I've seen it in movies and stuff, but what's it actually _about?_ ”

“Something to do with Indians, right?” Butch said, his eyes darting from window to window.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that anymore,” Boomer said.

“It's just one of those stupid family holidays,” Brick said. “Togetherness and shit. Him even used to celebrate. Remember? Except we had, you know, Christian newborns for dinner or something.”

“ _You guys told me that was turkey_.”

“Or sacrificial lamb. I forget.”

The door swung open, and both Boomer and Butch jumped back.

“Hey,” Brick said to Bubbles, throwing a look at his brothers over his shoulder.

“Happy Thanksgiving! You guys are early, we're still cooking—”

“Do you, uh… need a hand?” Brick asked as he stepped inside and looked around furtively. Then he remembered how terrible Blossom was in the kitchen. “Or we can just sit around and wait.”

“ _A hand would be good!_ ” Buttercup cried from the kitchen. “Bubbles! _You're supposed to be stirring this gravy!_ ”

“It smells like meat!” she complained as she shut the door behind Boomer and gave him a quick kiss. “Hey.”

“Of _course_ it smells like meat! The whole house smells like meat! _I've got an eighteen pound bird in the oven!_ _What did you expect?!_ ”

“Bubbles,” the Professor said, suddenly appearing behind the guests—

“OhmyGod,” Boomer wheezed, both him and Butch looking as if they'd had a heart attack.

“Go help your sister in the kitchen,” he ordered. “I'll play host.”

Bubbles complied, but not before brushing a hand through Boomer's hair. It only magnified Boomer's sense of self-preservation as he bore the weight of the unblinking Professor's glare.

Brick inclined his head. “Thanks for the invite, Professor Utonium.”

“Well, you know what they say,” the man said, an unnerving smile on his face as he took in Butch and Boomer. “The more the merrier.”

The two of them swallowed and shuffled behind Brick. Brick, meanwhile, was trying to work out how to ask…

“How was, uh… Blossom's trip back?”

“Still en route,” Utonium said, in a civil tone that surprised both Brick's siblings. “She'd never been on a plane before, so she decided to try it out on the return trip.”

“Oh.”

“I bet she's regretting it now with all those holiday travelers, though,” the Professor said, leading the boys into the living room.

“Thursday tends to be better than Wednesday. It sounded like she had a good time.”

There was a chilling pause before the Professor turned.

“Brick, join me in the lab for a second.”

Brick's siblings cast him looks of simultaneous concern and anticipatory glee at their brother about to receive the treatment they had been subjected to.

“Uh… sure.”

Professor Utonium indicated the door, and as Brick moved towards it Butch and Boomer looked at the kitchen, where the girls were.

“Have a seat,” the Professor ordered, and they both hit the couch, hearing the unspoken _Don't move_ that followed his command, as well as the _Or else_ that punctuated it.

“Yes, sir.”

***

“It's more spacious in here than I realized,” Brick said after the Professor indicated he should move down the stairs. The Professor flipped a couple of switches, and the lab illuminated with light. “And more… _designed_ than I expected.”

“Well, I figured if I was going to spend so much of my time down here, I'd better enjoy looking at it.”

“I hear that,” Brick said, taking in the equipment surrounding them, and then faced Utonium, waiting for him to make the first move.

The man propped his hand up by his fingers on a nearby counter, the knuckles like a little ocean wave as he drummed his fingers against the surface.

“Now, Brick. About Blossom. And what you said to her.”

A tiny jolt of panic rippled through Brick. He had said lots of things to her. Too much, in some cases. If he'd known she was going to run home and tell her father…

He decided to chance it and play dumb. “What did I say to her?”

“In Citysville last month. You told her she couldn't save everyone,” the Professor elaborated.

_Oh._ Was that it? That wasn't so bad.

The Professor’s eyes focused somewhere behind Brick, and he chanced a glance over his shoulder, spotting their reflection in the glass covering Utonium’s college diploma. “She needs to hear that. She's not… _good_ at letting this stuff go. I mean, it almost kept her from going on this trip entirely. I don’t know how she’s going to cope when it’s time to leave for college.”

Next to the diploma, in a smaller, more muted frame, was a hand-drawn picture of the family. Presumably Bubbles’ work. That itself was surrounded by actual photos, a mix of casual snapshots, school portraits, Polaroids, and the occasional newspaper clipping. Put together, they dwarfed his PhD. It was almost comical.

“She doesn't even want to entertain the possibility that she _can't_ help or save everyone. But that doesn't mean she shouldn't hear it. So thank you for saying it.”

Brick turned back to the Profesor, unsure of how to react. _You're welcome? Think nothing of it? All in a day's work?_ Man, that was hero talk. And Brick wasn't a good guy.

_So why am I over at the good guy's place chatting up her dad in his basement laboratory and waiting for her to come home with no ulterior motives?_

Um. One problem at a time.

“Like you said,” he told the Professor, “she needed to hear it.”

The man nodded, satisfied, then indicated the stairs.

“Let's get back up there and keep an eye on the company.”

Though he wasn't entirely sure it was a joke, Brick twitched his lips politely, his version of a laugh.

“Actually, Brick, I've got one more question for you.”

“What's—” Brick halted at the sudden and dangerous intensity in Utonium's gaze. Those dark eyes had a shocking depth to them, pools of inky black that threatened a pull into the abyss, and as Brick leveled his own at them, they narrowed.

“Are you _interested_ in her?”

Instinct told Brick that when a bear was staring you down it was best not to break eye contact. Wait, no, it was the other way around. You had to break eye contact with bears. But that was bears, not fathers. Fathers was another story.

He stared into the abyss and said, “Not to be rude, but I don't think she's really my type.” It wasn't a lie.

The Professor was suddenly all smiles and no scary looks.

“Oh,” he said, his voice bright. “That's good to hear.”

***

Butch and Boomer had been straining to hear the conversation from their seats on the couch, but everything sounded muddy.

“Bubbles said he flips a switch to muffle the sound or something,” Boomer said.

“You think he's freaking out?” Butch said, feeling a little conflicted. Seeing Brick get his was a once-in-a-lifetime type of opportunity, but Brick was blood, all the same.

The doorknob began to turn, and Butch and Boomer automatically assumed their rigid, stationary positions on the couch.

“I mean, I can't say I'm that well-versed in architecture, but I know the kind of aesthetic I like,” Brick said, no trace of fear in his voice. “I like drafting.”

“Really? From what I've heard from Bubbles, I thought you were more of a painter.”

Butch and Boomer exchanged a bewildered look, then turned their heads to stare at the two conversationalists.

“I do paint. But mostly I sketch. I like pencils. I guess that's why drafting pushes my buttons.”

Butch openly gaped. That _fucker!_ Brick sensed the shift in his brother's expression and glanced at him, but his eyes caught on the painting hanging over the couch.

“Is that a Biskup?” he asked, and Professor Utonium's eyes lit with surprise.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” he said, his impressed look further stunning Butch and Boomer. “You know your stuff!”

“Just the stuff I like.”

_This is so unfair_ , Butch thought. How come Brick was able to get away with _everything?_

“Professor!” Buttercup called from the kitchen. “I'm not trying to interrupt or anything, but we could use another set of hands in here…”

“If I don't get away from this gravy I think I'm going to pass out,” Bubbles said, sounding a little sick.

Butch and Boomer were already rising to their feet when—

“Sit down,” the Professor said, not even looking, and the boys planted their asses back on the couch. “Excuse me, Brick—”

“I can help out,” Brick said, stunning both his brothers yet again. Brick? Helping? _Volunteering?_

“Yes please!” Buttercup exclaimed, and Butch bit his lip and tried not to huff.

“Sounds like that would be appreciated,” Professor Utonium said. “Thanks, Brick.”

As the two new best friends moved away, into the kitchen, Butch hissed in a low, barely audible voice, “Brick, you _fucker._ ”

Brick only shot his brothers the briefest of looks before rolling his eyes and joining the family in the kitchen.

***

“Brick, you can pour that gravy out,” Buttercup said as she checked on the rolls in the oven. The bird was already resting on the counter.

“Here,” Bubbles said, handing him a gravy boat with one hand and balancing an armload of plates on her hip with the other. Professor Utonium was already laying down the silverware.

“I can kill the stove, yeah?” Brick asked.

“Go for it,” Buttercup said. “Bubbles, I'm going to warm your pies up in here with the rolls, if that's okay.”

“Okay!”

Brick switched the dial to _zero_ then poured out the gravy. He glanced back at the stove.

“Hey, you've got something in this pot over here.”

“Extra stuffing,” Buttercup explained. “Yeah, let's get that on the table, too. Brick, open that cabinet to your left. There's a big serving bowl in there.”

As he emptied the stuffing into the dish he couldn't help feeling stupidly domestic. But he hadn't wanted to just sit around waiting for Blossom to show up. He’d thought it would probably look good if she came home and saw him helping out. She'd probably like that. He picked up the bowl and turned.

“Uh… where should I put this?”

Bubbles scrambled up, arms outstretched.

“I will take that,” she sang, and as her hands took on the weight of the bowl, Brick caught movement behind her in the doorway and paused. Bubbles followed his gaze, then shrieked and fired the bowl back into his arms.

“ _Eeeeeeeee!”_ she screamed, dashing at Blossom and engulfing her sister in her arms. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God!”

“Hello to you, too,” Blossom said, laughing as Bubbles bounced them both up and down. The Professor came up to join the hug, bringing the jumping to a close. Blossom's gaze softened as he held his two daughters.

“Welcome back, sweetie,” he said, voice cracking a little.

“Thanks, Professor.”

“Good to see you,” Buttercup called as she continued to work the table. “Now back away from the kitchen until I say so. I've still got food to set down.”

“Gee, Buttercup.” Blossom rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

“So happy to see you!” Bubbles squealed.

“Me, too!”

“The boys are here,” Bubbles said, lifting her head and looking back between the living room and Brick, who was still at the counter with a bowl of stuffing in his hands. A bowl he became very aware of as Blossom turned her attention to him.

He might as well have gazed directly into the sun. She looked absolutely radiant, prettier than he remembered.

She removed herself from the hug—more of a tangle than a hug, actually—and began to draw closer to him.

“ _Hold it_ ,” Buttercup commanded, and as Blossom froze Buttercup took the bowl from Brick and flew it to the table.

They both stared at her for a second, then went back to sort-of-looking at each other.

“Hi, Brick.”

Nonchalant. Nonchalant was his specialty.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and squeaked, “Hey.” He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“How are you?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging.

They sort-of-looked at each other a moment longer.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said.

“Oh. Yeah. You, too.”

“I, uh, thought of bringing you back a souvenir, but wasn't sure what you'd like.”

“Probably nothing.”

“So I got you the right thing,” she said, forcing a laugh.

He twitched his mouth, then caught the eye of Professor Utonium, whose expression held none of the casual politeness that had permeated their interaction in the lab. He let his mouth go solemn and pulled his attention away from the sun.

“Food's on!” Buttercup hollered. “Let's eat!”

Bubbles grabbed Boomer and Butch from the living room and everybody began to assemble at the dinner table. His brothers appeared to be loosening up a bit, each taking a seat next to their respective girlfriend/friend, at least until Professor Utonium materialized in the empty chair between the two boys. That left Brick and Blossom together to take the seats between Bubbles and Buttercup. Brick moved for the one next to Bubbles, shifting so Blossom could access her seat as well.

“It smells delicious, Buttercup,” the Professor said.

“It does,” Blossom said. “What a treat to come home to!”

“It wasn't all me,” she replied.

“Just mostly,” Bubbles stage-whispered. She suddenly took Brick's hand, which confused him.

“What—”

“It's just a dumb family thing,” Buttercup said, rolling her eyes.

“Buttercup!” Blossom scolded.

“It's not dumb!” Bubbles cried.

“We join hands,” Professor Utonium called over the threatening din. “Then we go around the table and each say one thing we are thankful for.” He issued a pointed look at Bubbles. “ _One._ Thing.”

She pouted. Boomer squeezed her hand with his and she stopped pouting to smile at him. The smile on his own face drooped as soon as Professor Utonium's vice-like grip closed around his hand.

“I told you this was a dumb family thing,” Buttercup muttered quietly to Butch, a dim blush warming her cheeks.

“Whatever,” he muttered back, wishing his hand would stop sweating as he held hers. “It's not that—” He paled as Professor Utonium took hold of his free one. He swallowed. “Bad.”

Brick and Blossom stared at each other's hands for a second before reaching for each other.

“It's good to see you,” she said, squeezing inadvertently.

_Yeah_ , Brick thought of saying, but only thought, because his throat refused to open. He couldn't believe how strongly he was reacting to merely touching her. He had to struggle not to look. It felt like it'd been ages. It hadn't even been two weeks.

“Blossom,” the Professor said. “Why don't you start us off?”

Blossom looked at her father and said, “I'm thankful for home.”

“I'm thankful for all the help I received in the kitchen. Particularly from All-Clad,” Buttercup said.

“Say a real thing!” Bubbles cried.

“And Bubbles.”

“That's better,” Bubbles said, her pout disappearing.

“Food,” Butch managed under the weight of the Professor's glare. “This food, specifically.”

“You're welcome,” Buttercup said.

“I'm thankful for science,” the Professor said. “It gave me you three girls.”

“Awww,” all three girls said playfully, though Bubbles and Blossom actually looked a little teary.

“And pays the bills. And gives me an easy way to hide the bodies.”

“Oh, Professor,” Bubbles said, off the wide-eyed expressions on Butch's and Boomer's faces. “Stop teasing our guests.”

“I'm not teasing. _Go ahead, Boomer_.”

Boomer gulped and looked at Bubbles for encouragement. She beamed at him, and the tension left his face.

“You,” he said quietly. “I'm thankful for you.”

She gave him a sweet smile and leaned in to peck him on the cheek.

“ _Bubbles not to rush you but you are holding up the line_ ,” the Professor said, his teeth gritted.

“Well,” she said, settling back in her seat and taking in the whole table. “I’m thankful for the new friends we've made since the beginning of the year!”

“Way to cheese it up,” Buttercup said.

“It's still a good one,” Blossom said, glancing at Brick.

The table went silent while they waited for Brick. Brick, who could not think of a single thing. Boomer had had the right idea. The only thing on his mind was the girl in the seat next to him and the weight of her hand in his, and how much of a relief it felt to be close to her and touch her after a couple of weeks that had passed like an eternity.

Was it always supposed to feel like this? Like she was the only thing?

“Pass,” he said, taking the table by surprise. “Sorry,” he said, feigning sheepishness. “All the good stuff was already taken.”

“Oh, Brick,” Bubbles said. “There's _so much_ more good stuff! There's—”

“All right!” the Professor exclaimed, clapping his hands and standing up. “Who's hungry?”

As he pulled up the carving knife and fork, delivering a pointed look at Butch and Boomer in the process, Blossom's hand finally left Brick's. They exchanged a glance.

A plate came his way, and he dumped some of the food onto his own without really looking.

“So how was your trip?” he said, passing the plate to her. Bubbles leaned over.

“Did you meet any cute college boys?” she asked, eyes gleaming. In the background, the Professor stilled. Brick held his breath.

“Not really,” Blossom said, passing the plate onward without meeting anyone's eyes. “At least, nobody my type.”

“That's too bad,” Brick said, spooning some food onto his plate without once taking his eyes off her.

She glanced at him, a hint of a smile on her face as she took the bowl of stuffing he offered her.

“Funny thing,” she said, and Brick noticed her gaze darting back to his hand and a slight pink tinge on that lovely face of hers. “I wasn't too torn up about it.”

_-end Ch. 11-_


End file.
